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quillandink333 · 3 years

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Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VI

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

By the time I was finally let into the crime scene the day after making my little forensic discovery, the sun had already come down to kiss the horizon. It had taken a great deal of stubborn persistence, but in the end, I had managed to convince the chief detective to grant me access by proving the effectiveness of my method.

As for the name of this method, I had decided to dub the chemical “luminol” due to its distinguishing chemiluminescence, as well as for the sake of succinctness.

Though the chief himself had taken to this well enough, there was yet another hurdle that I’d had to overcome. The estate’s residents. That process had been a bit more difficult, and delicate. At first, my adoptive family were, naturally, apprehensive to let me do as I wished. But when I gave them my solemn apologies and told them that this might allow me to make up for all I had done to hurt them, their trust in me seemed to have been somewhat restored. And I had no intention of letting them down again.

I had to admit, though, that being here on my own was more than a little bit strange. I’d done each one of my investigations side-by-side with my partner ever since I’d freed him from the psych ward and gotten him in with the force a year ago. Every time he wasn’t there to lend me his insights or hold onto something for me or put a hand on my shoulder if ever I got myself overly worked up was like the pang of being slapped across the face. But each of those times, I would straighten up and remind myself, “I’m doing this for him.”

According to Link, he’d found the key near the foot of the fireplace. And so that would be the first place I’d search.

But before I could begin, the parlour was bathed in harsh, orange light.

The officer charged with supervising me had his finger on the light switch. “Ah, actually, could you keep those off for me?” The man gave me an estranged look, but granted my request all the same. “Oh, and close the blinds for me while you’re at it, will you? Ta!”

Now that the room was dim, I’d more effectively simulated the conditions of my apartment that night.

With no further ado, I made my way toward the mantel. Its polished, stone surface couldn’t possibly have the ability to conceal any amount of blood, one might have thought. In which case, one would have been wrong. And my new formula was going to prove just that.

All it took were a couple of spritzes to cover the entire width of the mantelpiece. I waited. Then after a few seconds, the luminol set in, and I had my results.

On either end of the shelf, there was a statuette. These frog-like figures stood guard here as guardian deities to the Sheikah family, or so I’d been told as a seven-year-old. But now, the truth would be revealed to me that what they protected was not the family but a secret. And on the night of the murder, evidently, they’d failed to do even that much.

On the right-hand figurine’s forehead, there had appeared an array of fluorescent blue spots. They were shaped and positioned like fingerprints—a thumb, index, and middle, gripping the creature by its painted skull—but unlike fingerprints, they were completely filled in. I recalled dusting these statuettes for prints on the second or third day of official inspections, and I’d found nothing. The person who these bloody prints belonged to must have been wearing gloves at the time. The same method they’d used to leave no prints on Link’s revolver.

With caution, I aligned my fingers with the prints and gave the figurine an experimental wiggle. To my surprise, it wasn’t fixed to the mantel as I’d thought, but rather hinged to it. It tilted back, and underneath its feet, a small, round keyhole glowed orange in wait.

This was it. I took the unassumingly sized key from my pocket and dropped it into the hole, whereupon both key and keyhole went from orange to brilliant sky blue. A perfect fit.

I couldn’t believe my eyes with what occurred next.

When the key fell in place, the mantel itself split down the middle. Then the two halves began to shift independently away from one and other. As this was happening, the inner wall of the chimney had broken apart into individual rows of stone brick, which then swung backward into the wall.

The two halves of the mantelpiece, having scraped along all the way to either end of the fireplace, collapsed and folded down against its outer legs with a decisive klock. All of this had transpired in the span of just ten seconds.

Behind what had once existed in my mind as a solid, stone-brick wall, there was now a small, cylindrical hollow, just big enough for one or two people to stand inside. The floor of the hollow, beyond the hearth, bore the symbol of the Sheikahs and glowed with the same blue hue that had the key upon being returned to its home. I looked down and noticed the key in question on the floor, having fallen out when its side of the mantel had lain itself vertically.

When the mechanisms in the mantelpiece began stirring to life again, I realized I was on a time limit. With haste, I retrieved the key, placed it in one of my coat pockets, and entered the tiny room.

For several moments, nothing happened, save for the wall of the fireplace closing back up behind me. During these moments, I wondered, what purpose could this room possibly serve? There were no shelves or drawers or racks that one could use to hang one’s clothes on, and it was far too small to be used as storage.

Then all of a sudden, the floor began to lower, all by itself.

The farther and farther I descended into the depths of the unknown, the harder my heart pounded. Just how deep did this elevator go?

And for that matter, how in the world was it even going? The ceiling above me remained where it was, so pulleys were out of the question—and there were no gears or anything moving the floor downwards, from what I could tell.

My confusion turned to shock when the platform I was on defied gravity itself as it entered the chamber that seemed to be its destination.

“What in the blazes...?” I breathed aloud. I had half a mind to suspect that what I’d just witnessed was the result of paranormal influences. Of course, the Sheikah crest beneath my feet told me there had to be a scientific explanation as to how these endless technological mysteries operated. Auntie Purah was sure to know. Though, come to think of it, had she even been aware of the existence of this secret passage?

I now found myself at the start of some kind of corridor. The sound of my heels touching the floor as I stepped down from the levitating platform echoed in the darkness. The only sources of light came from the pulsing, blue runes lining the baseboards of the cold, polished walls, the similarly pulsing Sheikah insignia adorning the archway that marked the start of the hallway ahead, and the mounted sconces that, rather than fire, contained lightbulbs of the same blue that emitted no heat.

As enthrallingly curious as all this was, none of it was relevant. Right now, I was retracing what were likely the steps of the true killer. All I had was to keep moving forward.

But doing so was going to be far easier said than done. Not only was this place exceedingly dark, so much so that I could only just make out the edges of each wall, but it seemed to go on forever. The twists, turns, ups, and downs were so frequent that after five minutes, I hadn’t the slightest idea which way I was facing. The one bright side to it all was that there was only ever a single path forward to choose from.

But to make things worse, there were traps set up along the complete length of the labyrinth. Things like cameras, pressure plates, and even lasers, all of which were inventions that I and the general public were already familiar with, unlike that impossible “elevator” that I had discovered. One thing was for certain: whoever had carried the corpse of their victim through here had to have known their way around this place. For I was barely even able to get by without unwittingly tripping the alarm.

By the time I was finally nearing the end of my journey, and thoroughly drenched in an anxious sweat, I spotted something lying on the ground where a few stray rays of moonlight were seeping in from the outside.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a letter of sorts. It wasn’t until I examined the back of the envelope that I realized this wasn’t just any letter. It was addressed to none other than Impa Sheikah, and it bore no return address. Not only that, but it was stained with splotches of what appeared to be blood.

The sheets of parchment inside were old and yellowing, and the envelope had what looked to be the remnants of a broken wax seal on the flap. The letter itself was handwritten in the same elegant cursive in which the address had been written, with some kind of nib pen and ink. Aside from murder, whoever had sent this must have had a deep affinity for the old-fashioned.

“My dear friend,” it began.

“It is with great sadness in my heart that I am writing to you. The last time we spoke was far too long ago, but even so, I am afraid this will be one of the last times you shall ever hear from me. You see, I have held off on this for as long as possible, but you have forced my hand. I can no longer allow you to meddle in my affairs as you have been.

“I am certain that you are aware of this by now, but I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife for a number of years. I must say, you have done a fine job of raising my darling Zelda in my stead. She has grown into a fine, young lady thanks to your efforts. Though I admit, I do wonder if she has what it takes to ‘solve the mystery’ of which she has been so steadfast in her pursuit ever since my unfortunate, yet necessary, departure.

“The night grows late, and I find myself carrying on. This letter has strayed far from its original purpose. Allow me to get straight to the heart of the matter. Meet me in the secret garden on the twenty-first before daybreak. Surely I need not tell you what would happen if you were to decline this simple request of mine. You were once my nearest and dearest friend, after all, and to allow malice to fester between friends such as we would be a tragedy, to say the least.

“Please deliver my deepest and most heartfelt affections to the rest of the family.

“Yours faithfully, Hilda”

By the time my eyes had dragged themselves along the sweeping lines of the signature, by hands had started to shake so severely that I nearly couldn’t read what was written there. In fact, not just my hands, but my entire being was trembling out of control. I fell to my knees, the sheets of paper scattering in every direction.

Now I knew the reason why this writing had seemed so familiar. I’d used the very same to confirm the nonexistence of the tooth fairy at age five by writing “her” a note and analyzing “her” reply the next day.

My mother was alive. Not only that, but...

I rose to my feet so quickly, my head started pounding. But I paid no heed to it. All I could think in that moment was how impossible it was.

At the end of this long hallway, there was a small set of stairs leading up to a trapdoor, carved from the same stone-like material that made up the walls of the labyrinth. It was incredibly heavy, but it wasn’t locked. With a bit of effort, I managed to heave it open.

The scene into which I would then emerge would change my life forever.

I found myself in the middle of a section of the estate’s gardens that I had never seen before. Behind me was the garden wall that I was familiar with, but rather than the rest of it being properly walled off, it was lined with dwarf evergreens. Beyond those, however, the thicket of the woods seemed all but impassable.

At the centre of it all, there was a place where the flowers were trampled and wilting. From afar, these flowers appeared a deep red hue. But up close, they were white. Something else had turned them red.

Then it dawned on me—these were carnations. I looked around. The secret garden was fit to burst with carnations.

“I observe the world as I hide in a cage. In my youth, I am weak, but I gain strength with age. I both give life and take it away. When one tries to pluck me, I make them my prey. What am I?”

“A carnation.”

It was all flooding back to me. My mother’s fondness for the species, how she had been born on the streets, the great fire that had devoured City Hall, the uprising of the Yiga...

Everything I had been led to believe was a lie.

The head of the organization was my mother. And Auntie Impa had known it all along.

When I looked up toward the starless sky, it felt as though I were plummeting head first into its insatiable, black abyss. My lungs seized up, and I couldn’t breathe. My very soul, being pulled in two opposite directions, was doomed to be torn apart.

Then the clouds parted, and behind a veil of shadow, the full moon was revealed.

The phantom of a hand belonging to the boy I called Link came to rest upon my shoulder. It was soft and nostalgic, in tandem with the frail light of the moon. I felt my chest brimming over with a courage most profound. At that moment, I harboured not even a wisp of fear for whatever it was that lay ahead of me.

#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

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taeyohonic · 4 years

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Zero Percent

Summary: There is a zero percent chance the Park Jimin likes you, right?

Pairing: Jimin x fem!Reader

Genre: College AU, Golden Boy!Jimin, Actor!Jimin, Group Project Hell

Warnings: swearwords, one scene where the reader gets groped without consent (obviously not by Jimin)

Words: 5k

Monday – 9:47 am – PoliSci lecture

Everybody likes Park Jimin. Not only is he the star of the drama department – making the Dean cry with his performance as Hamlet during freshmen year. No, he is also the head of the Environmental Club and part of the most elusive fraternities on campus.

Park Jimin is kind, smart and handsome. The guy is constantly surrounded by fellow frat brothers, drooling girls and you even heard a story about a stray kitten following Jimin around, resulting in him adopting the little cat.

So, you aren’t really surprised when he doesn’t remember you – you only share two classes and one lecture with him. It does sting a bit, though.

“And you are?”, the golden star asks, looking at you with friendly distance in his eyes.

“_______”, you answer.

It follows an awkward silence – all four of you staring at each other with unease. There is no greater hell than group projects. You’ve got no friends, or even acquaintances, in this course. It isn’t like you are a recluse. You just have a very small circle of friends. And you don’t have any desire to change that.

“Well”, Jimin begins and unlocks his iPhone, “let’s start with a shared google docs.” Now he hands his device over to the girl with thick rimmed glasses. She looks like murder and you are woman enough to admit you’re a bit afraid of her. She does start your 8 am lecture with an energy drink and cold pizza. every. single. week.

“We could meet up before class next week to divide the parts among us?”, the guy to your right offers and you haven’t ever heard him speak before. He usually just sits in class and doodles in his sketchbooks. The red one he is resting on right now is the third book you’ve seen him use in the last month.

Your eyes widen as his words reach your tired brain. Meeting up before class? Before 8 am?

The girl gives you Jimin’s phone and you add your contacts half-minded. There is not even a single crack on his screen. Is this guy even real?

“How about after class?”, Jimin suggests instead and winks at you. You nearly drop his phone when you see his left eye closing in mischief. Did Jimin really just wink at you?

“Nah, I’m packed till practice”, the guy answers and takes the iPhone out of your hands.

“What about this weekend?”, the girl asks and opens her calendar.

“I could manage Sunday afternoon”, Jimin says and stores his phone back in his jeans. His way too tight jeans. The jeans you’ve been staring at all through lunch today. He was wrestling for … uhm… fun with one of his brothers – Jungkook you think – and his ass was just… very present pressed against the denim.

“Sounds good”, the sketch guy says and the girl nods in agreement. Now all of them look at you; the person that did in fact have plans for Sunday. But you doubt they’d be very understanding of your self-care day off from the week.

“Yeah, sure”, you agree reluctantly and fish out your own smartphone, an old grandfather of Jimin’s model with many cracks littering the screen. Without looking up, you delete the do not disturb block in your calendar and create a new appointment: group project politics.

“We can meet up at the PoliSci library; I’ll get us a study room”, Jimin says and stands up – his tights directly in your eyesight. There is a hint of blush on your cheeks as you pack your things together yourself.

“Great”, the other guy cheers – way too enthusiastic – and departs from your group. His sketchbook is raised as he waves at you. You turn around to the others and they are both gone too. Well, what did you expect from a group assignment worth 15% of your grade with random people? Did you see Jimin’s back as he exited the lecture room? Maybe. And did your eyes lay a bit longer on his butt? It’d be a crime if they didn’t.

Wednesday – 10:03 pm – dorm room

“No way!”, your roommate shouts, her voice a shrill pain in your head. “Not the Park” You just nod, your late-night ramen hot on your tongue.

“How did you manage that?”, she asks and nibs on some seaweed crackers.

“Random assignment”, you mutter as you swallow down your food.

“You lucky, lucky bitch!” She throws one half-eaten cracker in your face.

“It’s a group project, not a blind date, Jisoo.”

There is a zero percent chance that the Park Jimin is even slightly interested in you. But then you remember his wink and you up your chances to three percent.

“Let’s get some beer to celebrate!”, your roommate suggests and totally ignores your unenthusiastic posture. The day was long – after working a shift at the kiosk on campus.

“I’m tired”, you whine, but your body moves as you get dragged to your feet by Jisoo. “My noodles”, you cry. She just rolls her eyes and pushes the warm cup into your hands. “Eat them on the way.”

You grumble the whole walk to the kiosk you worked just a few hours ago. There are so much more options to get two cans of beer at 10 pm on a Wednesday, but you do get a 5% employee discount – plus the 20% for being a student.

“Do you think he’ll invite you to the fancy parties?”, Jisoo wonders and swings your entwined hands between you. Your other hand holds your food – you want to save the rest up for drinking.

“Before or after I bear his heir?” Jimin’s fraternity is legendary for its exclusive parties. In contrast to most frats, theirs is known for the tight circle of invites. These events had a hand-picked guestlist, no cheap alcohol in sight. There were even rumors that Jimin makes all partygoers use reusable cups to reduce plastic trash. You do remember reading about this in one of the columns of your university paper.

“You’ll be fat after birth, so preferably before”, she reasons. You nod – true.

“I ain’t see any fat”, a male voice slurs and then you feel hands on your butt. You turn around, recognizing a squeeze before the hand leaves your body. As you see the guy who touched you, you feel fear setting in your bones. There are three of them and they do look very drunk. The darkened ally is not the most favorable spot to meet jerks. You can see the light from your store coming up ahead, but it’s late and deserted and they touched you.

“HEY”, Jisoo shouts and moves in front of your body. “NO TOUCHING WITHOUT CONCENT!”

His two friends are shocked by her loud outbreak and take a step back, but the toucher is still standing his ground. “Yo, be chill, bitch”, he says. Oh, he did not. Before you can even think about it, your arm moves on its own account. The lukewarm soup and the noodles splash in his face, coating his shirt and dripping on the cement. The guy’s eyes widen in surprise, but then they light up with anger. Shit. “Shit”, Jisoo whispers out loud.

And then Park Jimin is there, pushing in front of you. He creates a human wall between you and the three guys. His body heaves as he breathes in fast intervals. He must have run after he heard Jisoo’s shouting.

“Back off”, the golden boy says with a calm voice. His blond hair is so close, you are sure you can smell his eucalyptus shampoo.

“Hey man, this is between me and these two bitches”, the other guy answers, insulting you again.

“You’ve got a minute till my brothers catch up”, Jimin states. “Go. Now.”

Maybe the guy was too far gone, alcohol clouding his judgment, but he needs his two buddies nearly dragging him away from you. They whisper in his ears, half bowing to Jimin. “So sorry, man”, one of them says, clearly having recognized the star student even in the dark.

Jimin doesn’t react. Instead, he turns around to you and you get to look at his angered face. “Why are you two out here? Alone? In the middle of the night? Where is your rape whistle? Hm?”, he asks. You just watch him with surprised eyes.

“Hmm?”, he questions again, stepping closer to you. Jisoo stares silently at Jimin. She has never spoken to him but has always been a strong advocate for watching his ass during lunch.

“Uhm”, you try to answer and swallow the fear from moments ago down. “We… we-were getting to the part?”

Jimin just scoffs in your face, clearly not impressed with your fumbled words. “What are you even doing out here at this time?”

You are slightly intimidated by his presence, so your finger shakes a bit as you point to the kiosk behind you. “We wanted beer.”

You have no idea how this happened. One second you were assaulted, then saved by Jimin. Now you’re sitting in front of the store, waiting for the guy to come back out. Jisoo is sitting next to you on the steps, her elbows on her knees. Then you hear the bell at the door and turn around to see Jimin juggling three beers under his right arm and a steaming cup of noodles in his left hand. He comes to a still before you and pushes the ramen in your hands. After that he places two bottles in front of your feet and crouches down facing you. Jimin’s face has cleared and he looks friendly enough.

“Thanks”, you whisper into your cup. Jisoo hums in agreement.

“I called one of my brothers. He’ll get the footage from one of the security cameras tomorrow”, he explains and twists his own beer open, taking a big swing.

“Why?”, you ask confused and blow at your noodles. Jimin’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean why? So, we can write these bastards up”, he says, and you gasp in surprise, the noodles falling back into the cup.

“You’d… do that for us? Even though you haven’t even seen him… uhm… grabbing me?”, you question in wonder. Why would he go out on a limb for you?

Jimin just rolls his eyes at you. “Of course, I’d do that.”

He is halfway through his beer when Jisoo decides to participate in this semi silent semi one-sided conversation.

“What … were you – you know – doing out this late?”, she wants to know in the softest tone you’ve ever heard her speak in.

Jimin’s hand combs through his hair, the thick strands parted by his fingertips. “I was on a date”, he answers casually.

“On a Wednesday?” Maybe not your smartest contribution because both let out a chuckle.

“Some people date during the week”, Jisoo snorts.

“Some people do meth, Jisoo. Doesn’t mean these are good life choices. Wait – Jimin… did you leave your date to…”

“To rescue two girls from danger? Yeah.”, he finishes for you and dusts invisible dirt from his shoulders. You roll your eyes at his puffed chest and eat another bite of your food.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you”, he laughs, “I was just on my way back from dropping her off at thes dorms.”

After that, there is an awkward silence. The three of you aren’t friends – there is no connection, common interest or shared anecdotes between you. Well, apart from your group project and his unborn son. Before you can start to ramble about the specifics of the – still empty – google docs he linked you in two days ago, his cell starts vibrating.

“Yeah?”, Jimin answers absently and collects your empty bottles to dispose them into the recycling bin. His conversation is muffled at best and you look at your roommate. Again, you hear the bell ring as your coworker Jaehyung closes the door and locks the store.

He smiles down at you. “Why didn’t you come inside, ______?”, he asks in greetings and gives you a quick hug. You hold your ramen in a vice grip – you’ll not lose your second midnight snack again.

“Jimin insisted he didn’t need the 5% extra discount”, you shrug and Jaehyung looks at you funny.

“Jimin?”, he wonders and steals a bite of your noodles. Is there even a god?

“That’ll be me”, the man in question responds and locks his iPhone as he joins the extended group.

“Ah, man… I loved how you absolutely killed it last week on stage”, Jaehyung praises and pats the lead actor on the back. You couldn’t agree more. You’d been there with all the student employees from the kiosk. Jaehyung made it his mission to justify the outing as a bonding experience and teamwork task to your boss.

“This one even had tears in her eyes”, he whispers in mock secrecy and points in your face. Jimin looks at you with an unspoken question on his lips. The actor stops studying you and moves his eyes to look at your coworker, who stands very closed to your sitting figure.

“Glad you enjoyed it”, Jimin mumbles and spares a small smile. “I… really have to get to the frat soon”, he starts, “so, … I’ll better get you two to your room now.”

Jisoo stands up in a heartbeat, dragging you up as well. He’s going to walk you home?

“Nah, don’t worry, man. I’ve got this!”, Jaehyung answers. Jimin’s face is blank as he musters the scene in front of him.

“I’d really like to know that you got back okay”, he reasons and looks pointedly at your coworker.

“Their dorm is waaay out of your way, man. Just let me handle this… It’s the same direction for me anyway”, Jaehyung tries to reason and you see Jimin’s eyes flash in frustration.

Jisoo is just looking between both men, not really sure how to react. Has Jimin an ulterior motive to walk you back? Does he even want to walk you back? Is it more than just soothing his conscious?

Maybe your chances of the Park Jimin being interested in you just upped from three to fifteen percent.

“Sure”, Jimin reluctantly agrees to Jaehyung’s plan and faces you, his stare zeroing in on you.

“Write me when you get home?”, he demands more than asks and you can only nod dumbfounded.

“Just,… let me give you my number so you’ll be able to text me”, Jimin reasons and stretches his hand out to get your phone. You look at him in confusion – you exchanged numbers two days ago during class. He was the one messaging all of you.

“I… uhm… have your number”, you tell him. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Since when?”, the campus star asks and musters you in suspicion. Your face colors instantly, a deep red tone on your cheeks, as you realize that Jimin doesn’t remember you’re in his group assignment. He… doesn’t even recognize you. You feel so embarrassed, more so when Jisoo, too, sucks in her breathe.

“Uhm”, this is… very humiliating, “we’re i- in the same.. group for our PoliSci class.”

There is a beat of silence as you see even Jimin’s cheeks dusted with a hint of red.

“Ah, right, sorry”, he says and massages his neck uncomfortably. “I didn’t recognize you without your glasses.” Kill me now.

You just laugh and swallow down the bitter taste in your mouth while moving closer to your friend. Now, he thinks you’re the murderer? There is no mercy for your pride here.

“Let’s get going, ______”, Jisoo says, way too chipper and links your arms as she pulls you away from this disaster. “Thanks again, Jimin-ssi.”

“Yeah”, you agree and bow in front of him to cover the humiliation painted across your face.

Jimin bites on his bottom lip, all too tempted to reply, but settles for a swift nod.

Then the three of you walk away and ss soon as he is out earshot, Jaehyung looks at you.

“I have never seen you wearing glasses, ______”

Well, maybe your predictions were a bit off, maybe your chances with Jimin were no more than two percent.

Sunday – 4:32 pm – PoliSci library

“Should we… just start?”, you ask as Jimin fiddles with his tablet. You’re both seated in one of the small study rooms of your library. There is a half-empty box of chocolates between you. Jimin presented them with a shrug – they were a present he got after his last performance, the sweets a gift from one of his fanclubs… yeah… plural.

Other than that, there is your old laptop in the desk, some of the books from your professor’s reading list spread around the table, and an empty water bottle. What is not here, is the rest of the group.

You don’t have their numbers, Jimin being the organizer out of the four of you. His is the only number that is saved in your phone and was used last Wednesday. There was a small part of you – hell, who are you kidding? – a big part of you, that didn’t want to text Jimin. After the embarrassment died down that night, you were really angry. How could he? He winked at you one day and then forgot he even knows you the next day?

You wanted him to be ashamed; having him franticly messaging the wrong girl in his group would have served him right. And judging by the sheer joy this girl is, he’d have gotten an earful calling her at midnight.

But then you didn’t want to imagine him realizing he had the wrong girl. No, you wanted to be present. So, you texted him briefly and rescheduled the reveal for this Sunday, when he’d see both of you. And now you two are alone. Perfect planning, ______.

“You texted them, right?”, you ask for the tenth time and Jimin nods, picking one more praline from the box.

“Yeah, and I also called while you were peeing”, Jimin answers and pops the dark chocolate in his mouth.

“Don’t say that word”, you say.

“What? Pee?”, he laughs, “Be happy I didn’t say piss.”

“Now you said it too”, you whine.

“What else am I supposed to say, _______?” Oh, the right name; nice.

“Going to the toilette? Stepping out for a second? Leaving the room?”, you list and grab a sweet. The air between you both isn’t exactly uncomfortable. You’ve licked your wounds over the rest of the week and can see your partner for what he is, an overachiever.

He has much on his plate, so many appointments and engagements, it’s no wonder he doesn’t remember one of the hundred of faces on campus. So, you decided to forgive him… to a certain degree. The degree being, that a.) he doesn’t even know there is an issue and b.) your big revenge fell down the drain with your female partner being a non-show.

For the last half hour, the two of you talked, mainly about organisatory stuff like due-dates and presentation formats. But then you pointed to the box of chocolates and you both strayed into more private matters. You complimented him – again – for his performance and Jimin expressed his relief that he received all-around glowing reviews. He even shared that there was a casting coach at one of the stage nights. The golden boy’s eyes lit up, as he talked about the offer to sign a contract with this coach, who was one of the most in-demands in his profession.

“We could just divide the parts evenly among us and pick the ones most to our liking”, your partner offers and shares his tablet with you.

“I doodled with a few topics last night… what do you think, _____?”, he asks, and you look at his notes. Of course, his doodles look like your versions of an exposé.

Why does he have so much resources to prep for this meeting when he can’t even filter your face?

“Yeah, the second theme looks… uhm quite promising”, you say and move to enlarge his mind map. You’re sure the first proposal is just as good, but there were a few words that you don’t even know how to pronounce.

The two of you work productively for the next half hour, separating some key elements of the theory and choosing your own parts. Jimin – being the one coming up with the whole topic – let’s you pick first. You try to decline but he is very adamant.

After you added all your points into the shared document, the both of you pack away your things and Jimin throws away the empty box of chocolates. So much for a healthy afternoon snack.

Jimin is just happily telling you he’ll sleep in tomorrow because your professor canceled your shared lecture. You can’t agree more – having moved your self-care day to tomorrow instead. You’ll skip your tutoring session in the evening, so the whole day is yours. A smile stretches across your face and you hear Jimin stumble on his words as he looks at you.

“There is a party at my frat today, if you wanne come?”, he offers and slings his backpack over his shoulders. Wait… what?

“A Bangtan Party?”, you whisper-shout and look at him – the smile frozen on your lips.

Jimin looks a bit embarrassed as he sees your excitement.

“Yeah… I could set you on the guestlist?”, he say, a bit unsure. Your brain is working overtime. The Park Jimin wants you at his party? The girl he couldn’t even remember a few days ago? A mere group project fail?

“Really?”, you ask as you feel anticipation cursing through your veins.

“Really.” Jimin’s eyes are nearly closed, a bright smile pushing his cheeks up.

Maybe… Maybe your chances of the Park Jimin being interested in you are higher than you thought, now that he knows who you are. You’ll give yourself solid 20 percent. This party is one of the most exclusive affairs on campus, why else invite you if there isn’t some interest at his end?

“Cool”, you say, “can I bring my roommate?”

Jimin nods and holds open the door, closing and locking it behind him.

“I’ll see you tonight then?”, he asks instead of saying goodbye and moves away from you. You see Jungkook… and is that Namjoon?... waiting two aisles behind you, talking to each other in hushed voices. You wave at Jimin in affirmation and turn around.

“Don’t you think this is way too short?”, you ask – your insecurity slipping right out as you brush over the fabric of your dark red metallic skirt. Jisoo and you have been getting ready for the last few hours, which entailed not only some very hairspray-intense styling but also a tree diagram being constructed on the back of your pre-game nachos. Your roommate collected and rated every clue you gave her regarding the Park Jimin mystery – of course only after she squealed for a good minute.

“No touching my stuff”, Jisoo scolds and knocks away your fidgeting hands. She added ten percent to your prediction because she upvoted him rescuing you – and staring at Jaehyung in frustration – way higher than his misjudgment of forgetting your name and face. Even thought you pointed out that Jimin was on a date clearly indicating he maybe isn’t even emotional available.

“Your stuff is on my body, though”, you argue as both of you walk to the frat house. Their house isn’t that far off campus but it still is a 20 minute walk. You’ve got your pepper spray with you this time even if you left your rape whistle at home. There are few students out this evening, tomorrow being Monday making most of them stay in tonight. Before you can take the last turn do that their house comes into view, there is a person calling your name from behind.

You look and see the sketchbook guy from your group project jogging towards you. Jisoo looks at you questionably, not recognizing him. There is suppressed anger on your face and you try really hard not to be too mean to the person who left you and Jimin waiting today.

“Yeah?”, you ask and look at the slightly out of breath guy now in front of you. He’s got a gym bag over his shoulders, his running shoes still on his feet.

“Good workout today?”, you add with slight sarcasm in your voice. There seems to be a slight issue in translation because he just smiles wider at you as he gives you a small bow.

“Thanks to you, of course”, he answers, and you are this close to hitting a person today.

“What?”, you hiss and try to control your anger. This useless excuse of a PoliSci major will not lower your standards. Now the guy looks at you with a puzzled expression on his face – clearly not expecting you to me so hostile.

“You know? Yo- you and Jimin offering to do the selecting and dividing by yourselves really helped me out today.” Come again?

“What?”, you repeat this time without venom in your voice. His face moves to the side as he musters you carefully.

“Uhm… Jimin called on Thursday… telling us not to bother coming on Sunday”, he explains slowly as if you’re the dumb one. Jimin did what?

“What?”, you ask for a third time and now he and Jisoo look at you with worry.

“He.. he.. I mean Jimin – he mentioned that you two were totally fine with doing it alone… Mina and I offered to finalize and proofread the presentation in return”, he continues and you are just confused. So, so confused.

Why would Jimin lie to them – and to you?

“Ehm.. I’m sorry…”, you look at him sheepishly. He seems to understand and adds “Wobin”.

“Yeah, right… Wobin… this is a huge misunderstanding … let me – uhm talk to Jimin”, you say, the confusion slowing down your word flow.

Wobin looks at Jisoo in question and she just shrugs. “You’re staying with her?”, he asks her and she nods. “We haven’t had that much to drink… I think she just needs a minute. Thanks tough, Wobin”, Jisoo calmly states and your partner leaves with an uncertain wave.

“_______?”, another voice joins – because why not make it a whole convention here on the sidewalk literarily five minutes away from your destination. You turn to the male voice and see non other than Jungkook walking towards you with hurried steps.

“Hmm?”, you answer, still reeling from the confession mere minutes ago.

“What are you doing out here alone by yourselves?”, he questions as he catches up. Jisoo is frozen next to you – even tough Jimin is without question the hottest guy at your university, Jungkook is by far the most dangerous. Combined, they are lethal.

“We were just on our way to your house”, you offer and point in the direction of the frat.

“Yeah, I get that”, he says, “but why are you out here alone?”

“You can see Jisoo, right?”, you ask, not sure of anything tonight and look at your roommate.

Jungkook scoffs and shakes his head – clearly not impressed.

“After last Wednesday you’re still walking around alone at night?”, he wants to know. Last Wednesday? Wait how does he know about that?

“Who told you?”

Now Jungkook looks as worried as Wobin before. “Jiminie told me? Hadn’t I stayed longer at practice I would have been with him when he found you.”

“Practice?”, you ask.

“Yeah,… we’re preparing a inprov show to celebrate the anniversary of the drama department, you know?”, he explains and adds after he sees your expression: “Hasn’t Jimin mentioned anything?”

No, Jimin did in fact not mention he wasn’t actually leaving from a date but a late-night practice that day.

“He has been wreaking havoc since that night”, Jungkook shares. “Every brother had to sign up to cover a shift patrolling common paths during school nights.”

Now, he points at himself. “Today is my night so I’ll escort you to our mansion.”

Jisoo just looks at him like he grew a second head.

“You’re pepping for an improvisation show?”, she asks slowly as the three of you begin to walk.

This is the thing Jisoo has a problem with? Really? You feel your head spin while you try to make sense of the last two encounters.

Jimin didn’t go on a date last Wednesday. Jimin himself uninvited your partners from todays meeting. You shared chocolates with a liar.

“Wait… Jungkook?”, you ask not even looking at him. “Do you guys get a lot of gifts after your performances?” The student just laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, we’re not allowed to anymore. The presents were getting out of hands. I mean… Seokjin-hyung even got a gold bar once, a fucking gold bar.”

You speed up your steps as you see the frat house in front of you, few people mingling around the entrance. There is a guy standing at the door and you’re trying to get your student ID out of the bag – your thoughts making your hands shake.

Jungkook comes up behind you and just shoves you inside, saluting the other guy with a cheeky grin. You don’t have much time taking in the décor, but you do notice how small the group of students are mingling around the living room. There is soft R&B playing from a stereo and you see the infamous reusable cups full of alcoholic mixtures.

And then you see Jimin, how ridged he is standing in front of the fireplace, bottled water in hand. His eyes zero in on you and the blooming smile quickly freezes when he notices your disheveled state. You step around some guys on the couch, making your way towards him. He places his water on the mantlepiece.

“______”, he greets you and you hear the tension in his voice. He knows, you know – maybe not how much, but Jungkook trailing behind you with a guilty look tells him that you know enough.

“Jimin”, you start, completely unsure which lie you should focus on, your brain jumping around in circles.

“______”, he whispers and takes a step closer to you.

“Jimin”, you try again to form a coherent sentence.

Before his lips meet yours in a shy confession, you think to yourself:

Maybe there is a 99 percent chance of Park Jimin being interested in you.

________

there is... no logical explanation for this story, other than me having war flashbacks while thinking about group projects at university. did you enjoy this oneshot? Please tell me if you find this Jimin as "perfect" as I did (apart from manipulating the OC). did/do you have similar experiences with group work? I always hated it. with a passion. thanks for reading and feel yourself hugged (if you want to) from, dana

#jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin fanfic #park jimin #bts x reader #bts fanfic #college jimin #jimin oneshot #jimin fluff #park jimin x reader #bts fluff #jimin imagines #bts college au

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ahh-fxck · 3 years

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Here is my gift for @demisexualgeralt for @thewitchersecretsanta 2020 gift exchange! This was such a true pleasure to write, I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Soul Music

Rating: M (some whump, some mild adult content)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Cross-posted to Ao3

Everyone is born with a song. It is the one gift that Creation leaves each of its children. A small magic to comfort them in the lonely silences of life, a healing love when their hearts ache or shatter. Every child knows their song as well as the pattern of their breath.

Legend has it that Creation left each child with one more gift, a hidden secret that few ever discover. For the songs are more than simple wordless melodies, though they are that. They are also harmonies, one-half of a duet meant to be sung with one’s soulmate. On the day that duet is sung, voices twining in the air, lyrics will appear for the first time on the skin of each lover. No magic can wipe them away. Sharing soul music with one's true love is the only way to find out what the words are meant to be.

Or so the story goes.

Few people on the Continent believed that old tale anymore. The soul words, if they had ever existed at all, were a rare occurrence. Now, only children and fools sang their songs to the people they loved. Sensible people kept their private music for lonely moments when the only solace was the gift of song.

Witchers didn’t even have that.

When a young boy was given to the Witchers, the first thing that was taken from him was his song. A Witcher with an instinct to sing when he was hurt or frightened was a dead Witcher.

There could be no songs on the Path.

When Geralt met the bard for the first time, he had no idea what to make of him. After a life of silence, the young human was a breath of irrepressible melody. Quiet seemed to gall the little bardling, so he filled Geralt's days with chatter and his evenings with endless compositions.

"You smell like death and destiny!" The young human, barely more than a child, had cried on the day of their first meeting. "Heroics and heartbreak!"

Despite himself, Geralt had taken a discreet sniff. The only things he'd smelled of were Roach, onion, and the dirt of the road. Curling his lip, he'd grumbled, "It's onion." How could anyone smell like Destiny, anyhow?

Then the bard had called him the Butcher of Blaviken like it was something to be proud of. A surge of frustration had overtaken Geralt, and he’d turned toward Jaskier.

“Come here,” he’d said. The boy had trotted eagerly up to him. Geralt had given him a taste of what the Path had in store for such innocence, slamming a fist into his stomach just hard enough to drop him.

To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier had bounced back up as if nothing untoward had happened, like he got punched in the stomach all the time. Perhaps he did, at that. Bemused, Geralt had given a mental shrug and let him be. If the young idiot was willing to take a beating in the pursuit of inspiration, who was Geralt to stop him?

The intervening years hadn’t changed the bard much. He was a man now, yes. Stronger. Wiser to the ways of the Path. He was just as full of enthusiasm as he’d been that first year though, when he was a skinny boy prancing up the road after Roach. Little could dampen the bard’s spirits, and his good humor was matched only by his gift for tall tales.

Geralt discovered that Jaskier was a constant fount of sound. Crooning melodies to his notebook next to a banked fire, shivering and wrapped in a stinking woolen blanket. Voice bouncing back from the walls of canyons or hushed by moss in deep forests. Always moving, always talking, like a brook babbling over stones. When he wasn’t chattering, he was grizzling, and when he wasn’t grizzling, he was singing. Even his sweetest melody he gave freely of, to himself and others.

The first time Geralt heard the bardling’s soul song, they’d only been traveling together for a few days. Jaskier had injured himself sharpening a pen nib. There was a spat curse, a sudden bright scent of blood, and by the time Geralt looked up from the herbs he was preparing the bard’s knife had clattered to the ground. He’d hunched around his hand, squeezing it and gasping with shock and pain.

Geralt had tensed to rise, but quick as a breath, the young human had begun to hum. The sound was frantic at first, quickened and muddled by the pain. But then his eyelashes had fluttered against his cheeks and a true note thrummed in the air, bright and golden. Yellow as new leaves in sunshine, fresh and ancient as the damp breath of forest stones, the song had woven its way through the clearing.

The notes had thrummed in Geralt’s breastbone, tingled in his fingertips and the tip of his sensitive nose. He’d felt like the whole clearing had rung for one brief, shining moment, the sunlight sweetening through the shivering branches above him until it felt like his heart might break with the beauty of it. Then, like a soap bubble breaking, the moment had passed. Jaskier had straightened and smiled apologetically at him, still squeezing his hand.

Wordlessly Geralt had turned away and pulled a cloth and styptic tincture from his bag. Kneeling before him, he had pried the silly boy’s hands apart and pressed the cloth to the gash in his thumb. His gentle hands provided firm pressure to staunch the bleeding. As he sat there with his body ringing like a bell he privately marveled at the beauty of the bard’s soul song. Geralt had never heard a one before, not up close. People feared him, shunned him. It wasn’t an intimacy meant for Witchers.

Perhaps, then, it explained why he didn’t realize why Jaskier’s song pulled at his heart so. After a lifetime of being told Witchers weren’t meant for music, of course the first soul song he’d heard up close would set a yearning under his skin. It gave him a longing to hear more, hear it again, hear it forever.

Wasn’t everyone’s melody like that? He had no way of telling.

As they traveled together, Geralt learned that the bard’s soul music spilled from him at the least provocation, like an over-full cup being jostled. Jaskier sang to his abraded heels at night after a long day of walking, and to Roach in the early morning when he thought Geralt was too far away gathering herbs to hear. He sang to lovers behind closed doors, and sometimes their voices raised in gasping harmony with his own, music melding as bodies twined between the sheets.

Geralt was silent.

Witchers do not sing.

Perhaps they enjoyed melodies, though. The bard's notes eased into campfire nights and embellished dew-covered mornings like jewels. They embellished the sounds of whetstone and steel, leather, thread, and awl. As Geralt groomed Roach, Jaskier's music twined with the whisper of the brush. It became so much a part of his world that Geralt began to miss it when he and the bard parted ways.

They parted ways frequently.

Jaskier lingered with wealthy patrons, drawn to luxuries found rarely on the Path. Geralt pursued contracts in unpleasant places, too dangerous for even his foolhardy bard to follow. Their lives twined across the Continent, poorer for each parting, richer for each reunion.

The first time Jaskier left the silence came as a relief to Geralt. He’d rested easier knowing that there was only him and Roach to guard, no prattling human to protect from monsters and bandits. Before long, though, he’d found himself missing the soft sounds of finger and quill on parchment, the scrape of the bard’s razor on his chin in the morning, and, though he would never admit it, the neverending music. It pulled at something in his soul, woke a soft secret that he hardly dared ponder.

The first time Jaskier returned to Geralt, he'd shown up at the promised crossroad. He’d had his lute on his back and a smile on his face. When Geralt had ridden into town as agreed, Jaskier had greeted him with joy, throwing his arms wide. Then the colorful bard had fallen into step beside Roach, filling the air with his prattling and singing as if he’d never been gone.

Just like that, the music was back. It was as incomprehensible as the seasons and tides to Geralt, and just as impossible to control.

Sometimes Geralt wondered what it was like to sing, to be the instrument and the player all at once. He watched the bard do it with such ease that it made him ache. Music poured from Jaskier fearlessly. When Geralt told him that he made it sound easy, the bard had laughed.

It was the first time Jaskier had talked about his childhood. He’d told Geralt about the long hours of practice, honing his skill as surely and rigorously as the boys of Kaer Morhen had honed their bodies and minds. Golden songbirds don’t eat if they don’t sing sweetly.

Geralt had paused in his work, leather awl in hand. He’d eyed Jaskier in the flickering firelight for a moment. Then he’d quietly told him that wolf pups who don’t fight, starve.

It was the beginning of an understanding between them. Perhaps, the Witcher mused, they weren’t so different after all.

After that, Geralt began to see the discipline and skill behind the bard’s frivolous facade. Jaskier worked as just hard as Geralt, ever laboring to keep his voice, his mind, his fingers limber. The quills in his pack were always sharp, his lute well-tuned, his clothing impeccable. They were just as precious to Jaskier as Geralt’s blades were, and as well-cared-for.

Jaskier, in his turn, saw the soulful man hidden behind Geralt's layers of training, the years of discipline that wrapped him in silence. What others mistook for soullessness was a work of artifice, carefully concealing the thrumming music that still lived inside of him. Geralt himself was a melody, though few but the bard saw it. He moved through the world with grace, ferocity, and intelligence. It made Jaskier want to sing his heart out, and he did.

He did.

The bard sang to taverns and courts, to traveling families huddled in the forest for a night of rest, to kings and stableboys and Melitele’s women. He sang in high places and low, for pay, for free, to anyone who would listen. He sang of a man, a Witcher, a beautiful Wolf who stalked in the dark places and protected good people from monsters. Won’t you be good to him? Jaskier sang. Won’t you love him as much as I do?

Over the years of their travel, Geralt’s reputation changed. In more and more places he was greeted as the White Wolf, hero and friend of humanity. The songs the bard sang might be mostly puffery, but there was a grain of truth in each of them, and a hint of the bard's soul music rang as he performed them. Though he didn’t discuss it, Geralt could hear the sweetness of the bard’s longing hanging between the notes. Sometimes he wondered… why? But he never asked. No good could come of the answer. Just as Witchers were not made for song, they were not made for love.

Jaskier either didn’t know this or didn’t care. He doted on his Witcher. He followed him from one place to another, as loyal as the day is long. When Geralt hungered because people were stingy and cruel, Jaskier shared food with him. When he ached, the bard’s clever hands soothed the pain from his body. And when melancholy struck him, he was always there with a kind word. Jaskier insisted on indulgences that the Witcher felt he didn’t need and didn’t deserve.

Through it all, the bard showered him with unaccustomed praise. He held his sweetest song in reserve, though. If Jaskier started singing to his beautiful Witcher, would he ever be able to stop?

For once, he was silent.

Silent, that is, until death’s wings brushed too close.

Jaskier knelt over the Witcher as he lay injured in a hidden forest hollow. He watched with terrible fear as Geralt slipped from true sleep into something shallow and pale. His body cooled and his breath became a thin whisper, barely stirring his massive chest. Jaskier murmured unhappily, stroking his face, his chest, his hands. When he didn’t stir, the bard gathered Geralt’s big head into his lap and held him close. He sang every song he knew trying to bring comfort, although to who, he wasn’t sure.

Then he ran out of songs. Geralt was heavy in his arms, heartbeat fading as his body labored. A moan of dread escaped Jaskier, a terrible sorrow rising. The Witcher always said his death would be small and stupid, some lonely place far from help. Jaskier clenched his jaw, swallowing around a rising lump in his throat. He felt silly and helpless. Just a bard with no healer’s skill, watching as the man he loved slipped away. There was only one thing left, one small solace that he could share with his dearest love.

Softly, he began to sing.

Sweet notes dripped from his lips, golden as sunlight, a tune as familiar and intimate as the whorls on his fingertips. They rained down on the Witcher, twisting through the dank air and filling it with sweetness. Jaskier poured all of his love into every note. With each breath, he prayed that the small magic of his soul would reach his beloved. That Geralt would know there was one person who would sing even into the deepest night on his behalf.

The music sank into Geralt, enfolding him in the sweet melody of the bard’s soul. Somewhere deep in the darkness of his mind, he turned towards the sound and his heart knew solace. He had traveled this terrible road many times, skirting the black borders of death for patient hours as his mutated body healed, always in silence. Lonely silence. This time though, a piercingly familiar sound accompanied him. It weaved in between his labored breaths and the faltering boom of his heart, carrying with it a powerful love. You are known, it seemed to say without words. You are cherished. Most exquisite of beings, I am with you.

Time passed, and he realized the sound was a voice.

Yellow and green and gold, sweet and new and ancient.

Jaskier.

The light swept buttery fingers of warmth through the enfolding darkness. Along with the light came scent. Musk and clove, ink and dye, honey and wax. Smoldering coals and salve, stinking wound- for the first time that day, Geralt opened his eyes fully. He took in Jaskier, singing above him. Jaskier stopped when he saw Geralt and he lit up, tear-streaked face suffusing with joy.

Geralt smiled.

Heart leaping into his throat, Jaskier tenderly stroked milk-white hair away from the Witcher’s face. Geralt turned into his hand, sighing softly as his eyes drifted half-shut again.

“Sing?” he rumbled.

“Always,” the bard replied, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, then began his truest melody again. The golden notes drifted down around Geralt in the half-light, and Geralt followed them down into true sleep at last. Cradled in a gentle bath of sound, he rested. He healed.

When he woke again, a soft feeling stirred inside of him as he looked to the bard curled sleeping nearby. No one had ever sung their song for him before. He had never been cradled through the long night and bathed in the solace of another person’s melody. No one had ever loved him enough to entrust him with such a delicate and precious thing.

A stirring, needling feeling in his throat made him cough. Perturbed, Geralt turned away. He rose to clean and bandage his wounds, then attended to the small duties of camp. When he returned to Jaskier’s side, he wordlessly dragged his bedroll close and arranged himself alongside Jaskier’s sleeping back. With a sigh, Geralt curled so that he could nose into the softness of the bard’s brown hair.

The morning sun found them still furled together like petals in a flower bud. Dawn brought with it warmth, sore hearts thawing as the light revealed entwined fingers and tangled legs, still held close after the long night. They laid together until the sun was high and hot, watching the leaves shivering on the branches above. Even after their tangled bodies unfurled, the silence between them was as sweet as honey.

After that, the bard began to bring the Witcher gifts. Jaskier plied him with treats from patisseries, sweet-smelling salves, and rare ales. Even the simplest things that sparked the bard’s joy were pressed into Geralt’s hands: a stone, a leaf, a particularly lovely feather. Each was another note in a love song that Geralt could finally hear the melody of. Now that he could hear it, he realized that the bard had been singing it from the day they’d met. It warmed him in ways he couldn’t put words to.

Their nights were different, as well. Where they used to lay their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire, now they were side by side. When the inn had only one bed, there was no longer an awkward gap between them. They furled together sweetly, basking in the tender new warmth between them.

Soon, the Witcher began to bring the bard began gifts as well. Beautiful flowers to brighten his days and savory herbs to flavor his meals at night. Soft pelts the bard took to the tailor. Rare dyes and their mordants went to the cloth-maker. Soon Jaskier was clothed very finely indeed, and Geralt smiled secretly to see him preen and strut. The bard was beautiful in his joy, and the Witcher finally had eyes to see it.

Geralt didn’t understand why the bard loved him so. He was a mutant with no song, ugly and scarred by his work. But night by night, song by song, he came to know that Jaskier loved him in all of his seasons. Fine moods or foul, injured or hale, he was always at Geralt’s side. And night by night, breath by breath, Geralt came to trust that he loved Jaskier, too.

With the love came longing, a rare heat kindled under his skin. Jaskier’s pheromones took on a new meaning, becoming sweet and potent to Geralt in a way he rarely experienced. He began to wake in the mornings hungry to scent his beloved, his body warm and heavy with a curious delight.

The bard, long accustomed to quiet wakings with his reserved Witcher, enjoyed the change. Gentle teeth grazed the back of his neck and a warm nose pressed into the soft place behind his ear, tickling as it stirred his hair. Rumbling hums of sleepy pleasure became part of their dawn song as the Witcher explored his scent, nibbling at his neck like a delicacy, hungry for Jaskier but not yet ready for more.

Jaskier’s hums of enjoyment joined with Geralt’s, patient, lazy, and sweet. He knew that the big Wolf took lovers only rarely, preferring a quiet moment alone in the forest or a quick sojourn to a brothel to satisfy his momentary hungers. He had accepted long ago that his desire for Geralt might never be returned and cherished these moments for what they were: trust, intimacy, love. The bard purred and sighed in the grey hours before true light, savoring the gift of his Witcher just as he was. Perfect.

The patience was a balm to Geralt, soothing his sorely damaged trust. His body remembered hungry hands and angry words, frustration, spite. Jaskier was calm where others had been hasty, holding space for Geralt to sort out exactly what he wanted. His blue eyes were soft when Geralt struggled, and when he needed to stop, Jaskier never became angry or bitter. Curled in his arms in those moments, Geralt scented him. The bard smelled safe, happy, full of love.

Over time, the trust and gentleness worked their way into Geralt’s body. They eased something in his soul, leaving him alive to delight in a way he’d rarely experienced. The dawn song blossomed, over time, into exquisite harmonies of skin against skin. Teeth would sink into the bard’s neck just below his hairline, a soft growl stirring the fine hairs, and the bard would shiver with delight. Big hands would pull at his shirt, his braies, and soon their voices would crescendo into bright cries of pleasure.

Curled around each other in the aftermath, they knew a kind of peace. It was good to share a secret. There was something soft and sweet in the world, and it was theirs and theirs alone. Mingled breaths and tangled bodies became part of the rhythm of their travels, another beautiful thread winding through the song of their lives on the Path.

For a time, things were peaceful. Contracts were paid for more often than not, and patrons turned a favorable ear to Jaskier’s especially vivacious performances. The music of Geralt’s life became kinder than he was used to, softer and sweeter than a Witcher could ever have hoped for.

Of course, it would all end in silence.

The Path was a harsh mistress and she always took her price.

Geralt spat out blood, shivering and snarling as he inched his way across the rocks to where his bag had gotten tossed in the fight. The giant scorpion whose sting had grazed him laid dying behind him, spindly legs kicking the air as nerves fired their final impulses. Geralt’s whole body trembled and seized, muscles going rigid as the potent toxin began to eat into them. He tried to cry out in rage and fear, but to his horror, all that escaped was a rattling wheeze.

As the spasm eased he scrambled the rest of the way to his kit, hands numb and clumsy when he pawed it open. His stomach turned as he heard the sound of broken glass grinding within. The antivenom had been his last insurance should the creatures turn out to be too fast, or too numerous. They had turned out to be both. Now, as his shaking hand withdrew from the bag, he could see that one bottle was mostly intact, its foul liquid leaking from a hairline crack. With the last of his strength, he unstoppered the bottle and downed its contents. Would it be enough to save him? There was no way to tell.

There was barely enough strength in his throat left to swallow. The antivenom burned in his stomach and leaked hot-and-cold tendrils into his big body as his muscles spasmed and froze. Even if he survived long enough to metabolize the venom paralyzing him, something was bound to scent blood and ichor long before he was able to defend himself. For the first time in as long as Geralt could remember, terror set in.

Light leached from the stones around him, becoming cool and blue as late afternoon heat turned to early evening chill. Paralysis ate its way inwards, freezing first his limbs, then his core. As the light fell away from the mountainside even his diaphragm and lungs became sluggish and numb. His world narrowed. It had been rich with sound, scent, and vibration, but now that all faded to cold emptiness. Eyes useless, ears useless, everything useless. All he could hear beyond the occasional beat of his heart was the thin wheeze of air in his sluggish lungs. The only thing he could feel was the slow crushing sensation as each breath became harder to draw.

Air. Sound. The wind of life, breathing through all things. Dwindling, dwindling, to silence.

Silence.

It had been so many years since he’d walked the outskirts of death alone. Geralt had come to rely on the frantic scramble of Jaskier’s feet, on his kind hands and his knowledge of his potions. He relied on the green and gold light of his music to lead him home, back to the safety of his mortal form, back to his beloved. Geralt’s heart ached as he realized that he might not be able to feel it if Jaskier came, that he might die well and truly alone.

The cold emptiness pressed around him, closer and closer with each passing minute. It reminded him of being a boy on his first day of the Trials. He remembered shivering inside of a barrel, cramped, the only sound his breath as he pressed his face against the hole in the wood that allowed him air. Water lapped at his ears. To become a Witcher, the first thing he must sacrifice was his song. Like the other boys, he had been dosed with powerful alchemical potions before climbing in. He remembered watching the lid coming down over his head. Then, the sound of footsteps walking away. They wouldn’t return until the singing had well and truly stopped… one way or another.

The potions caused terrible fears to arise, even as they made his muscles ache and his insides churn. He supposed that the boys who thrashed drowned. The boys who despaired, drowned. The boys who couldn’t stop singing… in the end, they drowned too, too exhausted to hold their heads above the water.

Even Geralt had cried his sweetest song for long shivering hours, unable to stop himself. But at last, he’d fallen silent.

All that was left was the breath, curling in his ears, puffing in his face, a tiny wind.

If he started singing again, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d known he would die.

So he’d held his breath.

Sliding under the water, he’d felt it pressing down on him, crushing him as he’d fought the urge to sing with every ounce of his being. Fear had risen all around him until he’d nearly vanished within it. His chest and throat had fluttered against the water, spasming and gulping as he’d gripped the song between his teeth. He’d held onto it until spots began to dance in front of his eyes, his whole body trembling with agony and fear.

At last, the song had died. He had not.

The memory of that airless silence reminded him of the awful nothing he heard now, stuttering breath halting for too long, too long-!

Terror seized his lungs, trying to force him to breathe, and for a moment he couldn’t remember if he was the child in the barrel or the warrior on the mountain. Within his mind he thrashed for air, the song gripped so tightly between his teeth he was sure he could hear them cracking. If he let it go, he’d die. If he kept it, he’d die. Which one was it?

The lines began to blur until all he could remember was the burning urge to live, to live, stronger now than ever before as his soul melody curled between his gritted teeth. He was the warrior on the mountain and he was no longer alone. Jaskier’s song rose in his mind to greet him, conjuring memories of soft fingers and honey and cloves, sweet music transmuting loneliness to love. If there was one last thing he could do, even here alone on the mountain, it was this:

He could let his soul song rise into the night air with the last of his breath, a blessing and a celebration of a life shared in love.

Geralt could not feel the fumbling hands on his face as he began to sing, couldn’t feel the bottle being pressed to his lips as the last of his air left him. His song ebbed for a moment as he choked, then rose up as his massive chest heaved a life-giving breath. Freed at last, his soul melody twined up into the cold air with the rising mist leaving his lips.

Unheeded tears dappled Geralt’s shirt and face as he heaved and sputtered unintelligibly. Clever fingers massaged his numbed throat, helping him swallow. Jaskier cursed and prayed and muttered at the gods, easing the antivenom down Geralt’s throat drop by drop. As the bottle emptied the slow movement of Geralt’s chest quickened. The choking, rumbling noise that Geralt had been making unfolded, at last, into whispered music.

Grey and gold, silver and white, the song rang amongst the mountain rocks like it was a part of them. At first, Jaskier couldn’t be sure what he was hearing. Then Geralt gasped in another blessed breath and sang out again, louder and surer this time. The bard could hardly believe his ears. He felt the vibrations in his breastbone, in his lips, felt an upwelling from deep in his soul that he couldn’t have denied even if he’d wanted to.

Jaskier began to sing. His soul music spilled forth from him with delicate force, rising to meet Geralt’s. There was a shivering quality to the songs as they danced their first steps in the cold night air, rippling the world around them. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s stiff hands, cradling them and watching with wonder as the notes began to spark and shine with visible light. They danced around him like little stars, drifting from their lips and kissing everything they touched with blazing beauty. He tried to stop and gasp with wonder and discovered that he couldn’t. The song was moving through him like a living thing, like it was singing him and not the other way around.

The song pouring out of Geralt was strong and quiet, as gentle and full of hidden depths as the man who sang it. Jaskier’s melody wove and danced until it settled, suddenly, into bright harmony with the low rumble of his Witcher’s voice. The air around them was wreathed in coruscating shimmers as the breath of Creation spiraled through them, filling them with an indescribable warmth and peace.

Geralt opened his eyes to see the brilliance above him, forming a nimbus around Jaskier’s tear-streaked face. The bard’s eyes were wide with wonder, and he gripped at Geralt’s hands as if he were afraid he was going to be swept away in the shining tide. Geralt felt his heart stutter in his chest as he took in the sight, utterly overcome by the beauty. .

Delicious sensation began to spread from his fingertips and toes inward, a glow that was far gentler than the wracking pins and needles he’d been bracing for. His hands thawed, his arms, his legs, until he was finally able to heave himself upright with the help of his stunned bard. Facing one another with awe in their eyes they sang light into the world, into each other, into themselves. Their fingers entwined as unconsciously and perfectly as their melodies had as they looked into one another’s eyes, tiny drifting stars marking every breath. And for the first time, they knew the words to their song as surely as they knew the sound of their own heartbeats.

Home is a word I’d never known

Paths of stone,

Hard stone, cold stone

Time unrolling,

All alone, so alone

Travel weary

To the bone, the bone

Where are you, my love?

At my side all along

The longest road is the road home

To you, to you, to you

As the last of the words left their lips, the light faded. The warm wind curling around them vanished softly as a lover’s kiss, leaving a hush in its wake. They fell silent, their lips tingling with the primal magic of their soul melodies. Geralt ran his eyes over his beloved, taking in every detail of him as if for the first time.

That was how he noticed the words. Jaskier was kneeling over him, shirt unbuttoned even in the cold of the night. Geralt reached out and brushed it open, his eyes widening as the words he’d just sung appeared, one by one, on the skin of Jaskier’s chest. He frantically pulled his shirt the rest of the way open, ripping at it in his haste. Both of them watched in awe as they wound along the wing of Jaskier’s collarbone and down around his arm like a snake around a branch.

Jaskier goggled for a moment before he realized what had happened… and what it meant. Then he exploded into joyous motion. He began pulling at Geralt’s armor in a flurry of excitement, tugging and prying until he could finally see his lover’s pale chest.

There, twined in a spiral around Geralt’s heart, was the same song.

Jaskier started smiling first, but Geralt was the one who beamed like the sun breaking through the clouds. He reached out to his beloved bard, drawing him in for a kiss. It was one of the finest kisses that the Continent had ever paid witness to, the purest, the most passionate. The mountain rocks hummed with the memory of it long after they had picked their way down to the valley, ringing with the sound of their music.

A Witcher and his bard, together in harmony at last.

Then, they met a sorceress.

Sorceresses don’t sing.

But one Witcher does…

And so does his bard.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #thewitchersecretsanta

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writingisthecoolesthobby · 3 years

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Self-Care JetPens Haul

This month has been A Lot. I’ve been trying to force myself to love some supplies I got last year (Midori notebooks, Spectrum Noir Sparkle Brush Pens) and use up some of my stash (Hi Tec C Maicas) and I just haven’t been feeling it. So I bought some new stuff that I was pretty sure I would like better.

First up: Uniball Signo DX 20 color set from JetPens

Another WITCH contributor recommended these in our group chat, so I wanted to give them a try. I love the colors, and I like the thin weight (0.38). I haven’t tested them extensively, but the one I did was very smooth with no jitter even on the first write. So far, so good! I definitely think these will be a good replacement for the Hi Tec C Maicas, which are beautiful but such a disappointment in execution.

Pentel Dual Metallic Brush

A Japanese calligrapher on Instagram I follow uses these and I’ve been coveting them for a while. They’re a lot easier to prime than the Spectrum Noirs I got for Christmas, and the tip is a lot smaller. Oh, and I love the output so much, they’re exactly what I wanted.

(I really need to practice my shodo, this is bad, but you can see the shimmer).

Rhodia Rhodiarama A5 Webnotebook in Turquoise with Dots

I already had one of these in their purple shade and I just love it. I’m going to use the purple one and then this one for work. I love that Clairefontaine paper, the dot grid, so much more than the Midoris I’ve been working with (sorry, Midori!).

This is a piston converter for the Lamy pen I got for Christmas, so I can use third party inks. I was really excited about this one, and it’s actually how I justified buying all this other stuff. You can see a little sample of the Lamy vs Twisby Eco output here. I got a medium nib for the Lamy, which might still not be thick enough for the shimmer ink I’m using, but I didn’t fill it that carefully so we’ll see.

And an impulse purchase: PuniLabo pen case: Otter.

Otters are one of my favorite animals so there was a very low likelihood that this wasn’t going to delight. It’s very cute, and more functional than I thought. You can push the little nub in at the bottom and the case stands on its own on your desk.

Nub sticking out:

Nub pushed in, sits stably on a surface.

The nub also leads to a hilarious warning image from the packaging (I love Japanese goods for the heavy text they use even for what seems like the most obvious items). This is warning users never to push the nub with pens in it and the top open into your own face or aiming it at others, because the pens could shoot out.

All in all, I’m extremely satisfied with this haul. Happy writing! --waffle

#stationery #fountain pens #calligraphy #pentel dual brush #uniball signo dx #lamy safari #shimmer ink #jetpens

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rhetoricalrogue · 4 years

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31 Days of Wayhaven, Day 23

Prompt: Decay Rating: G Words: 1,496 Characters: Cameron Buchanan, Nate Sewell Summary: Two research specialists in their natural habitat comparing technology. Note: Takes place a few months or so before Book 1. Special appearance of @asaucyginger‘s Fiona just because.

For the @31daysofwayhaven event.

The Facility Archives was a vast expanse of knowledge. It may not have the aesthetics of a well-stocked library, but the colder metal shelving held large amounts of books and the long tables were excellent for spreading out. The cooler temperatures maintained the integrity of older books, but it did mean that sweaters were a necessity.

It was a good thing that Cam had plenty of thick, woolen sweaters to choose from when he decided to go on a research dive.

The table he had set himself up at was also occupied by one of his favorite fellow researchers. Nate Sewell was a longtime friend of his and the two of them often bounced ideas off the other when it came to different avenues of searching. The man was pleasant to be around and was an ideal research partner: even sprawled out, his books and notes were always kept neatly to his side of the table and he didn’t distract with unnecessary conversation.

Cam’s thoughts went to Unit Zulu. He wasn’t entirely sure if Agent Fiona even counted as a Research Specialist, he’d seen her moves in the training room and thought she was better suited as a Combat Specialist instead, but she was not keen on keeping her material or herself to one side of the table. She had a fixation with his hair, her fingers always finding ways to play with the thick brown strands, and she tended to lapse into a sultry Irish brogue. It was close enough to the Scots-Gaelic he spoke for him to know that she always gave him an open invitation to her bed, but he’d always politely declined. Fellow agent or not, she was Fae and it never was a good idea to be impolite to the Gentry, even when they were your co-workers. There were some things that you just didn’t want to bring HR into if you could help it.

“What are you looking for today?” Nate asked, the nib of his pen scratching faintly against the notebook he’d brought with him. It was a leatherbound book, the pages thick and cream colored, which told Cam it was probably expensive. It made the beaten up pocket sized black and white speckled composition book he kept most of his immediate notes on and the blue ballpoint pen with the missing cap look sad in comparison.

Cam looked up from his laptop. There’s where he kept the bulk of his notes, his notepad only for when he was at the stacks and he didn’t want a thought to escape between where he was and his makeshift study headquarters. He and technology worked virtually seamlessly together: he mostly had Nicky to thank for that, seeing as his friend was always on the cutting edge of any new thing. He snorted: Nicky had been one of those people who had camped out for over two days to get the latest iPhone one time. He’d been furious when he came back, phone triumphantly held in his hand, to find that the rest of his team was already updating their contact lists on the very same model. He hadn’t known that the Agency had already scored the upgraded phones and had one set aside for him to use.

“Just some random things, mostly about bog spirits in Florida and Louisiana. I’m trying to see if there’s any connection between them and the ones over the water in other countries.”

“Interesting, I know there’s a book over on the fourth row, over in that section,” Nate pointed over to a section of bookshelves to the left of their table and squinted, as if attempting to recall the exact position from memory. “Possibly the second shelf, maybe the third. Green cover, so I’d wear gloves in case it possibly starts to leach arsenic.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m still in the note-making stages of research, but I thought it would be best to start here, to let the books inspire me.”

Nate smiled and went back to his reading. A curious look told him that he was looking at human physiology and something about genetic mutation. “Working on that bloodwork case?” Cam asked.

He nodded. “It’s just so strange. I have no idea what a vampire would want with a human holding a mutation to their blood.” He ran his hand through his hair. “The last victim had enough blood left in their body for the science team to extract and sample, but I thought that maybe doing some of my own research would come up with an angle outside of the box, so to speak.”

Cam started to type. Luckily, the Agency spared no expense and the internet was incredibly fast, even so far underground as they were. “You may want to try looking at some non-supernatural reports. If you want, I can work up a list of papers that have been done on the study of genetics and how certain mutations affect how organisms interact with their environment.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that route.” Nate scratched at his chin. “It would make sense, seeing that beings evolve to overcome difficulties in their environment...hmm.” Nate made a few notes in his notebook. “Thank you for the idea, Cameron, but I wouldn’t want to drag you away from your own work.”

Cam grinned. “Actually, this is mostly an excuse to hunker down. Nicky decided that it would be a good idea to have a…” he searched for a word. “Fling with one of the admin secretaries and it turned messy. Like hunt him down and make him suffer messy.”

Nate winced. “It’s a good thing that he can’t technically die,” he joked.

“Yeah. I think she’d be happy killing him and then calling it even when he wakes back up, but still.” Cam shook his head. “I really wish he would pick his dalliances better, especially when it comes to supernatural women.” Part of Cam had a thought that Nicky chose the people he slept with on purpose, hoping that one of them would finally kill him for good and that he’d be able to rest in peace. He wasn’t immune to the fact that Nicky put himself into danger the most out of everyone in the team and had a fatalistic viewpoint when it came to death and dying. It was a morose thought, and one that he’d brought up to his friend before. Over the years, he learned that it was best if he left the subject alone.

“But back to your research,” he said, shaking his head and pulling out his phone. “Give me a few and I can send the list to you. A couple are behind paywalls, but I’ve got yearly subscriptions to a few places and a few connections to get behind the ones I don’t, so just let me know which ones interest you.”

Nate looked up from his book and smiled. “Thank you, I really appreciate the help.” He gave a glance towards Cam’s laptop. “You know, I prefer more…”

Cam grinned as he typed. “Archaic?”

Nate rolled his eyes. “Personal methods of research, but I do have to admit, having information at your fingertips like this does cut down on time.”

“I could show you how to do this, you know. I’m pretty sure IT has a spare laptop they can assign you.”

He shuddered. “No, I have one, it’s…” he took a breath. “Let’s just say that technology and I don’t mix.”

Nicky’s words came to mind. Those of us who resist change are bound to decay with time, my friend. Besides, it’s fun to look back and see all the changes we’ve adapted to over the years, no? Cam wisely kept those comments to himself. “Well, the offer still stands. If you ever need something looked up quickly, just let me know.” He jumped as his phone began to vibrate at the table. Picking it up, he saw that Winona had texted him.

Nicky’s dead again. Help me collect his dumb, horny ass from Hallway D-4. He owes me a drink when he wakes up from having his head thrown down the hall. Ew.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” he sighed, putting his laptop away in the bag he’d brought with him. Luckily he hadn’t gotten around to pulling books out yet, but he slid his notebook back in its usual spot in his back jean pocket and the pen in an unused pocket of his laptop bag. “Hopefully Helen will call things even now that she got her hands on Nicky and we can get back to business.”

“Good luck. Give my sympathies to the cleaning staff.”

Cam waved as he left, shouldering his bag and wondering about how big a mess someone could make of a dead man without a working circulatory system.

Then he sighed. As Nicky’s Commanding Agent, this was going to be one hell of an accident report he was going to have to write up.

#31daysofwayhaven #my writing #cameron buchanan #nate sewell

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save-the-spiral · 4 years

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at what point are you willing to listen to my silence

HI! guess who wrote a 4K word long nolan & duncan fanfiction. Gay Banter and Emotional Confrontation, that’s all I can say.

(Read it on Ao3)

Nolan chewed at the cord of his amulet, frowning around the harsh black line pressing into his chin, the gem at the end heavy with magic. He was focused on his work, brain sluggish, at the tail end of an all-nighter spent doing his homework. While he was one of the few who genuinely enjoyed Professor Drake’s class, he had to admit that the essay lengths were ridiculous, and the obscure topics made it awful.

Nolan yawned, cord falling out of his mouth, the pendant clattering onto the table, snapping him out of his daze. He hadn’t even realized he was chewing at the cord, and he frowned down at it, before stuffing the amulet under his robe, above his t-shirt, and picked up his quill, ready to edit his work.

Instead of dipping the nib into his inkwell, he ended up toying with the quill, moving his fingers so it would wave back and forth, the plain brown owl’s feather blurring at the speed. It fell from his hand when he yawned again, stretching and rubbing at his sore wrist and hand.

In this dark corner of the library, there was no clock, just the faint ticking from the large grandfather clock by Mr. Argleston’s desk. This late at night, there was nothing else. No shuffling papers, muffled conversation, or even soft breathing. Nolan settled in at around dinner time, and he had heard only a few people come in, and they all left eventually.

Really, it was his fault after all. He had put off the essay for the week he was supposed to be working on it. But it was so infuriatingly broad, so seemingly insurmountable, that he couldn’t even find a place to start. Even with a faint idea, it wasn’t even remotely interesting. So he left it until tonight.

Nolan leaned on his arms, bright yellow sleeves muted in the dim candle light. He let his hood fall over his eyes, dark blue trim working well to allow him peace. This was supposed to be easy. He had done this same thing so many times, and had excelled so much. He just had to grab the quill, and write. There was no excuse that could translate from him just sitting here and trying for hours, ending up with nothing.

He closed his eyes, trying to organize this in his mind. Main ideas, topic sentences, theme. Just copy over the introduction and reword it for the conclusion, add in some information from the body of the essay. It’s supposed to be easy.

In the end he was in that warm nest of his arms, breathing towards his left arm so he could get fresh air between the slant of his arm and the table. It was so dark, and he was so tired. The drifting between sleep and wakefulness was simple.

Waking up to a light prod on his shoulder, however, was not as easy. With a groan, Nolan raised his head, hand already shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming in-

With a swear, Nolan sat up straight, looking around, only to see Duncan Grimwater, Ravenwood’s resident talented necromancer, sitting across from him with a raised eyebrow.

“Bit early for an afternoon nap, huh?” Duncan finally said.

“Early?” Nolan managed to get out, yawning and then returning to rubbing his eyes, not even fazed by his hood falling and revealing his dirty blonde hair in a bird’s nest, his undercut growing out from lack of care.

Duncan was staring at him, face unreadable. “It’s like, one o’clock dude.” He said dryly, watching as Nolan’s eyes lit up with fear.

Nolan tensed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to resist the urge to rip up his now useless essay. Professor Drake did not accept late work, even from his best student. Maybe especially from his best student.

His harsh breathing filled the little alcove of bookshelves.

“I, uh, heard that you were asleep in here.” Duncan said awkwardly.

“So?” Nolan finally snapped out, an edge to his tone. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I wanted to grace myself with your presence.” Duncan’s awkward pressed lips quickly twitched into a sneer. “Maybe someone decided to worry about you for probably the first time in your life.”

“Who?” Nolan asked, making a show of looking around for someone not there. If he wanted to encroach on Nolan’s sleep far past any time that would make him punctual to class, he’d have to admit to the real reason why.

“Some asshole who thought he’d try to be nice, I guess.” With that, Duncan leaned back in his chair, making a show of going on the back two legs.

“Key word ‘try’.”

“As if you’re an expert on kindness.”

“Don’t believe it exists without strings attached.” Nolan shrugged, shoulders aching in protest to sleeping slumped over on a table.

“You don’t bring much to the table aside from being good at tests, Stormgate.” Duncan plucked one of Nolan’s quills out of its inkpot and began twirling it, regardless of the spots of ink staining the table and his fingers, his hood falling back a bit to reveal small, thin dreadlocks and an undercut.

“You don’t bring anything aside from knowing how to make Susie Gryphonbane pissed off and an obvious crush on your dead ex-professor.” Nolan snapped.

Duncan dropped the quill back on the table and let the front two legs of his chair slam on the floor. “Well then. As your fellow useless asshole wizard, I was worried about you.”

Nolan swallowed, staring at the small black onyx earrings Duncan wore so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact or acknowledge the implied question of if he was okay. “Seems like a stupid thing to do.”

“Well, it’s obvious you don’t try it. Worrying about yourself doesn’t lead to the hot mess you are now.” Duncan smirked, still mean, but at least not going for the jugular like they had before.

“At least I’m hot for once.”

The startled snort of laughter from Duncan made Nolan smile.

“What’s the deal, anyway?” Duncan said as his laughter died. “You’re brilliant. Spending hours perfecting an already perfect essay seems overkill, even for you. Some new kid impress Cyrus more than you?”

Nolan huffed, shoving the now crumpled and slightly drool stained essay he had slept on across the table. The few wobbly sentences were pathetic, especially in the light of day.

“So I see I had a reason to worry at least,” Duncan read the half finished introduction before sliding the paper back. “So how long until Cyrus puts a hit on you for being a-” He cleared his throat, before starting an awful impression of the awful professor. “‘Disgrace to all beings who have ever even thought of myth magic’?”

Nolan laughed, crumpling up the parchment and tossing it to the floor. “Don’t know when he’ll order that hit, but I hope he does it soon. The waiting’s the worst part.”

Duncan nodded sagely. “Ah. Not your first assasination attempt via the good professor?”

“I’ve got my fake I.D.s and the summer home in Zafaria all set up for times like these.” Nolan’s seriousness was offset by his smirk, by the new light in his pale eyes.

They both shared a laugh, and Nolan began packing up his books into his bag, unwashed hair falling into his eyes as he organized the books by color, making sure to store his quills properly and cap all his inkpots.

He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that he’d have to actually take a shower again even if it was sensory hell, and glanced over to see that Duncan was still sitting there, face more expressive and open than Nolan had ever seen. This wasn’t the stormy streets of Triton Avenue, or the stuffy classrooms, where Duncan constantly picked at obvious weaknesses and strived to prove himself better. In a quiet, sunlit library alcove he was a different person.

“Still hanging around?” Nolan finally said.

“Never got any information to assuage my obviously altruistic worries.” Duncan said, staring hard in a way that made Nolan uncomfortable.

Nolan was always uncomfortable when looking people in the eyes, though, so that was nothing new. The silence stretched on, and Nolan shifted his weight, debating how much running out of the library would be worth the trouble and inevitable temporary ban.

“Are you okay, Stormgate?” Duncan’s voice went soft, and for a moment he might as well have been speaking some ancient language for all Nolan could comprehend it.

Nolan felt his chest tighten, and wondered if he was going to cry. He hadn’t in months. Finally, he just shrugged, voice distant and fragile when he spoke.

“I don’t think you want my answer to that question.”

Duncan’s face immediately shut off, twisting into an annoyed scowl as he scooted back in his chair, the screech of the wood against wood harsh and awful to Nolan’s ears.

“Fine.”

Then Nolan was alone, hand gripping the strap of his bag too hard from where it pulled at his aching shoulder. He couldn’t tell where he misstepped there, and assumed it was starting the conversation in the first place. He yawned again, and stood up straight, stretching, before pulling his hood up.

Younger students walked out of his way when they crossed his path as he walked across the Commons. The dark shadows of the tunnel into Ravenwood were like a second blanket, a comfort in pavlovian, knowledge that he’d be in his safe, solitary dorm soon enough.

Then he walked out into the nice, sunlit courtyard in front of Bartleby, only to see Cyrus Drake striding out of the Myth School. The man obviously noticed him, and began walking faster.

Now was the time to run, he thought.

Turning around and racing back to the Commons was easy, deciding on a direction after that wasn’t so simple. He stumbled on the cobblestone path, then decided to go back to the library. His exhausted brain decided to treat this situation like it was life or death, so of course he made a dumb decision.

His professor would know to look for him in the library, as easily as he’d know to look in Cyclops Lane, where his family home is.

So, maybe that realization was what made him veer off of the path behind the waterfall of Rainbow Bridge, where everyone now knew Nightside was hidden.

Nolan knew too, of course. In theory. He knew a lot of things in theory, but found his own execution lacking. It’s the main reason why he prefered homework over quests, even if the extra credit is enough to never touch a quill again.

He had never seen the dark, dank cave with his own eyes. Or the very intimidating skull embedded into the half open door. It was his lifeline, though, so he walked quickly forward, shaking his hands to get the faint mist of water off of them. He shook his hands out more after that, letting himself stim to help with the nerves that onset him in this new environment.

Nightside was… not as scary as he thought it would be from the stories people tell. It was like a more tame version of the dark caves hiding in the other streets. There were little necromancers milling about, getting out of class. Malorn was herding them like they were a clowder of emo cats, and Marla and Penny were standing on the sidewalk, watching like one watched vaguely wild animals in a zoo.

Then a hand was on his bicep, and Nolan was being pulled onto half wilted grass, close to the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Duncan glared at him, a real one. He wasn’t the sarcastic asshole admitting he was worried. He was back to just being an asshole.

“Drake may have forgone the hit and was approaching me with intent to kill.” Nolan said, voice monotone, not looking Duncan in the eyes, watching the crowd of necromancers as they finally lined up properly, Malorn smiling wide as he directed them all into Nightside’s own small town. Duncan pulled harder, fingers digging meanly into Nolan’s soft flesh, huffing out what a generous person might call a laugh.

“Idiot.” Duncan muttered, loud enough so Nolan could hear it. He probably did it on purpose, there’s no point in pretending either of them are nice people. Wasn’t that the point of their library chat?

Nolan just stumbled along until they finally went into the old death school’s tower. Cobwebs populated the bookshelves more than books did, the rugs were stained and maybe moth bitten, and it smelled vaguely sweet, like someone tried to cover up a smell.

At his scrunched up nose, Duncan laughed, letting go of Nolan’s arm as they both kicked off their boots by the door. “That smell is Penny. She’s got a new pyromancer friend and is now making a lot of candles, the flowery-er the better.”

“Not the worst hobby.” Nolan finally said, unsure how to not insult the girl, even if she wasn’t there.

“Keeps her out of trouble.” Duncan drawled, then walked to a kitchenette. He pulled out a spotless kettle, probably the cleanest thing this building had seen in years, and began heating it up. He shrugged off his outer robe, leaving a plain grey tunic and black school slacks.

“I don’t think she could get in trouble if she tried.” Nolan was still standing by the door.

“Don’t underestimate the lengths Marla will go to when something gets in her head.”

“Trying so hard must be exhausting.”

“You would know, Mister I-Spent-Sixteen-Hours-In-A-Library.”

“Says the idiot who came to see if I was okay.”

“You still never answered my question.” Duncan turned around from his puttering around in the kitchen, and gave Nolan a Look.

“Well it’s still none of your fucking business!” Nolan found himself snapping far quicker than he typically did, voice eager to jump up and crack before slipping down into a yell that sounded far too much like an echo of his late parents’ voices.

“It isn’t?” Duncan walked closer, eyes trained on him as he pulled out two chairs at the table in the middle of the room. “What about the others?”

Nolan snorted, leaning back against the stone wall to watch Duncan, shoulder blades resting uncomfortably against the cold stone. “What others?”

“The other people who’ve made the unfortunate decision to give a shit about you? What, are they idiots like me? Nosy?”

“There’s no one else.” Nolan said.

“Ceren. Malorn. Penny. Artur. Fuck, even Boris for all the time he spends on the stupid newspaper, he notices you and how you look closer and closer to a ghoul every day. I’m just the only one who isn’t afraid to call you on your bullshit. You are not okay, Nolan.”

Nolan stared, feeling himself lean more into the wall, hoping it would open up and bury him inside the stone just so he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. Duncan was pouring hot water into mugs, and pulling out a box of teabags, dropping them in before turning back around, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you want tea or not?”

Nolan didn’t even try opening his mouth, knowing from the sensation in his throat that he had gone nonverbal, the stress of the situation taking things out of his hands. Feeling weak and tired and ready for another six hour nap, he found himself sitting on the floor now. The stone wall continued to leech warmth away from his spine, the rug was even less comfortable than he thought.

As good a place as any to start crying.

Duncan seemed alarmed when he muttered. “Didn’t know you hated tea that much.”

Nolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t in the middle of a meltdown that stole his normally white-knuckled control over his body. While he was usually a puppeteer of his clumsy, uncooperative self, when it comes to this his strings, long thin nerves extending from his spine and the tips of his fingers and from every single hair on his head are all shaken, every plate of his body convergent or transform boundaries, tectonics doing nothing but continuing their work, manipulated by outside force into compliance until they shudder and subduct into volcanoes and trenches and ridges and wide, empty abyssal plains. The metaphor falls apart as he is, a slow shattering like ripping up the dotted lines on what will be a puzzle.

The meticulous process of putting it back together is where Nolan often loses himself for days, skipping school just to sit in the home he grew up in and try to process and figure out how to be again, instead of this dissociative being where the world around him is too sped up and he feels like he exists five feet to the left of his body.

“-okay? Nolan? Nolan?!”

Heavy breathing rattled out of Nolan’s chest, and he has both hands on his head, pushing, trying to interlock his fingers into his hair so he doesn’t hit his own skull with clenched fingers, palms stiff and wrists aching. His knees push against his soft stomach, boots sliding a rug underfoot and rumpling it.

Nolan meant to make an inquisitive sound for Duncan to hear but instead it devolved into humming and trying to fill his brain with something other than the shaky feeling of tensed muscles, as if he was a series of rubber bands and paperclips just waiting to snap and cause a mess.

“Nolan? Oh I don’t know anything about healing, are you having a panic attack maybe? I really thought this was going to end with the tea and maybe some flirting- gosh, this is not how I thought any of this would go, I’m sorry.”

Duncan continued to ramble, eventually sitting on the floor in front of Nolan, setting down a tray between them.

Nolan’s breathing slowed, still ragged, his throat hoarse and face sticky from tears. His face hurt, he felt numb, empty again, a water glass overfilled by clumsy hands. Eventually he was reaching out, mind still distant from body, and awkward fingers fumbled for the handle of the blue speckled mug, wrist weak enough that he grabbed it with his other hand as well. The heat from the tea sunk deep into his chest when he brought it closer, and he closed his eyes, trying to not dwell on anything but the tea.

Duncan made a cut off sound, and when Nolan opened his eyes, Duncan’s mouth was slightly open, face twisted by confusion. “Are you… okay? There’s a couch upstairs you can crash on, Nolan.”

Nolan just nodded, sipping the tea, now lukewarm.

Duncan set down his own mug and leaned back on his hands, looking at Nolan like he’d never seen him before.

“Okay then. We don’t… have to talk if you don’t wanna. But we can. Talking to you is nice, Nolan. I’d hate if-” Duncan looked to the side, flushing slightly, “If you weren’t there, y’know. You’re like the rest of us, a fixture of Ravenwood or whatever. But I’d also like to be your friend, I mean, we’d all like that.”

Nolan watched how Duncan’s face, soft without it’s usual anger or derision, twitched into a smile.

“We really all do care. Penny wants to know your favorite color and scent for a candle. Marla wants to study history with you to see if it’s different in the myth school. I want…” Duncan’s voice cracks with emotion, “I just want a friend, one who can keep up when I want to bitch about stuff, one who doesn’t care if I’m nice or not.”

Nolan drained the rest of his tea, gently leaving the mug on the tray, before shifting to stretch his legs out, still silent as he stood, suddenly feeling a lot less small. He still wanted to hide away from the world, wished he was back in his dorm where he controlled everything and knew every object and how to be most comfortable, but right now he would settle for the cold stone walls and the pins and needles sensation in his legs.

He then pointed upwards and cocked his head, face blank and eyes heavy.

Duncan got up hastily when he noticed, setting their tray onto an empty bookshelf. “The couch upstairs?”

Nolan nodded, feeling a headache pulse behind his eyes, crawling in the back of his skull.

“I’ve got some blankets in the cupboard- feel free to head upstairs and get comfortable, it’s clean and usually just for a reading area.” Duncan crossed the room, opening a large armoire.

Nolan’s socked feet began to ache noticeably once he began ascending the stairs. He supposed at least a full day of wearing boots would do that to, and there wasn’t much else to be done. Without realizing, he trailed a hand against the stone wall, palm flat, ready to catch himself if he fell. It was instinct from climbing up the stairs to his dorm for years.

The room at the top of the death tower was a bit dreary. Muted light from a single window gazing over the small opening street of Nightside flooded a slice of the room, leaving the door and the couch on the opposite wall in almost complete darkness. The patchy rugs and mismatched chairs were comfortable looking, and obviously lived in. Though a few of the shadowy diagrams and realistic portraits left something to be desired.

With clumsy hands, Nolan dragged his robe off, crossing the room. He tossed it on the couch, by the pillow furthest from the window. Sitting down, he sighed at how comfortable even this lumpy couch was. He was already glad he managed to get himself together enough to get off of the floor, and this was better already.

“Oh, it’s dark in here.” Duncan’s voice echoed against the stone walls.

Nolan startled, a choked gasp leaving him.

“Sorry! Sorry. Want me to light a candle or something? We’ve got plenty.” Duncan’s arms were full of several quilts, a slightly moth eaten comforter, and an array of strangely shaped knitted blankets.

Nolan shook his head, and stood, grabbing a few of the quilts and the comforter. A sudden sense of insecurity came from him realizing he was in simple black slacks and a white t-shirt, slightly stained with ink, but his exhaustion caught up to him.

“The knitted ones are uh- the death school’s attempt at starting a knitting circle? Please don’t tell anyone.”

At Duncan’s almost desperate tone, Nolan managed a smirk, eyebrow raised.

Duncan snorted. “Well. Tell whoever you want. As long as it doesn’t get traced back to me.”

Nolan shrugged, expression specifically blank just to watch Duncan’s half smile become a bit worried. It was then that Nolan began swaying on his feet trying to set up his ‘bed’, vision dimming slightly.

“Woah there. Woah-” Duncan stepped forward, tossing the knitted disasters behind him to steady Nolan. “I got you, it’s fine.” He muttered, warm breath puffing against Nolan’s cheek, more a reassurance to himself than anything else.

Nolan stood for a moment, yawning while Duncan set out the comforter as something to lie on, and guided Nolan to sit down. Nolan flopped against the pillow, murmuring.

“What was that?” Duncan said quietly, leaning in.

Nolan grumbled, half asleep, and threw a quilt over himself before turning over. “G’night, Duncan.”

Duncan’s eyes widened and he backed up. He walked quietly across the room, only allowing himself to look back when he reached the doorway.

The only visible part of Nolan was his hair, the rest a badly hidden lump of a conjurer. Soft snoring echoed slightly in the room, and Duncan found himself smiling, a hand reaching up to his mouth as he leaned against the stone wall for a moment.

“Goodnight, Nolan.” He finally said, and turned to walk downstairs, and let his new friend rest.

#Wizard101 #Writing #Wizzy101 #Wiz101 #W101 #Wizard101 fandom #wizard101 fanfiction #Nolan Stormgate #Duncan Grimwater #Autistic nolan stormgate is my lifeblood sorry!#wizard101 npcs

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leftiswherethedoorisright · 3 years

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Reflecting on poor financial choices - HD Remaster

TL;DR: Earning my own wage really didn’t help my pen addiction. My pen collection now totals an amount where I could’ve bought a reasonably nice used car, but where would be the fun in that? However, I only bought some of the pens I’ll mention, all the Montblancs for examples where gifts from relatives who took a liking in that their old pens will be loved and used once again. But I will keep to the chronological order. As spoilered before, I recieved a Meisterstück 149 in platinum trim with my initials engraved into the clip. It’s sexy as fuck, it’s got a gorgeous BB nib which is very smooth, very wet and makes even my scribble look stylish. In short, it’s a brilliant pen, and deserves the name masterpiece. There is loads of information about it out there, I don’t have to reiterate what others can do better. I personally recommend Figboot on Pens’ Review over on YouTube, I like his no nonsense style. Then one of my older relatives came along and gifted me to Meisterstück 144 pens. One a cartridge converter with a satisfying cap click and even tho it is very, very thin and light, it is well balanced and I find it a comfortable writer. It is nice, but wasn’t my highlight by far. My highlight was a 144 with Montblancs old telescoping piston mechanism, a star in beautifully yellowed ebony, a nib that while actually very feedbacky requires no effort to use, is bouncier and softer than your girlfriends tiddies and just a joy to use. It’s still unreal to me that I can call this pen which is borderline 70 years old, my own. The best thing is: It works like a charm, it’s nearly embarassing how well everything still works. Now, two Lamys. I bought a Lamy Persona in black titanium oxide and gold trim because I fell in love with the flush clip. It is a gorgeous pen with a nib that on Tomoe River feels like writing on glass but isn’t very wet. The quadruple start threads ensure that the cap is of in less than a third of a turn, in short: it is a great notetaker, quite the looker with a styling thats as fresh now as it was in 1990, a satisfying posting mechanism for the cap wich reassuringly clicks and doesn’t even backweight the pen that much, but I rarely post pens, quick threads and a nib that is basically designed for craptastic paper. Then I bought a Lamy 27 because one of my trainee teachers showed me an old advertisement for it and I just had to have it. It is lovely, even with a crack in cap, but it writes well, it came in its original box and with its instruction and damn, it’s a good pen, again, with a very timeless styling, just the basic cigar shape and few trim pieces. Bulletproof piston mechanism too. And then I made a mistake. I reread ukfountainpens review of the S.T. Dupont Line D/Elysee and decided that I needed a bit of french styling and while searching for the Elysee I stumbled upon someone selling ther S.T. Dupont Olympio in Laque de Noir (Or at least he claimed that). The urushi laquer with what appears to gold flakes inside looks stunning, very fitting for late autumn and holy shit, everyone who raved on and on about Duponts superiour cap click: You were right. This pen got me that fucking hooked on Dupont with its looks, hinged clip and glasslike nib (even better than the Persona which it on its own conquered my collection regarding smoothness) that I ordered a Elysee two days later, as I wanted a specific model since I found the version with the diamond dimple much classier than the ones with a laquared shield and damn. Its looks are so stunningly simple yet detailed that my moms boyfriend declared it his favourite pen in my collection while my uncle, who gifted me the 149 declared that in case of my very untimely departure from the mortal plane he would lay claim to both the 149 as we share the same initials and the Elysee as it is as timeless as the Meisterstück, even blacker, arguably more classy and is just stunning. I will borrow this quote from Anthony: “You could call all this boring, but somehow the Line D / Elysee comes off as composed, well executed, classy, versatile. Like a well-made grey suit, you could use the Elysee every day at work, and nobody would ever notice it, but you’d never find it lacking, never tire of its unassuming style.” It is simply gorgeous.The engraving is sharp as a knifes edge, the capping even resonates a bit more than the Olympio, perhaps to better emulate the opening of Duponts iconic lighters and I could go on for days about why this fountain pen has probably set an end to my permanent pen buying as there are very few pens out there which I find as visually appealing or write as good (pains me to say, but for about half the price of a 149 its a better writer. A 149 is still worth every cent to me, as it has a century long heritage, is a pen that basically serves as the template for classic pen design with its cigar shape, has a piston filler and is comfortabe, but while I find it’s nib sexier, it isn’t as smooth. But my true recommendation is: Buy both, they look like to fine gentleman about to offer you otherworldly opportunities next to each other) I will probably buy myself a Lamy 2000 with an EF nib as I am curious about this classic, but for now, I don’t see myself making any additions to my fountain pens. I currently have 15 of my 27 pens inked, three of those are for work (a TWSBI Eco and two Reforms, one for calligraphy as a textmarker) and I want to get at least a few of these pens out of my system as it is very unlikely, that I’ll ever use or be able to use them again.

#fountainpen #review #montblanc #st-dupont #dupont #Lamy

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thebluemartini · 5 years

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Far From the Shallow - Chapter 13 [Nessian Fic]

TITLE: Far From the Shallow SYNOPSIS: Post-ACOFAS. As part of a deal with Feyre, Nesta has agreed to live with Cassian in the Illyrian Mountains. However, shortly after her arrival, she receives the startling news that she’s pregnant from one of her one-night stands. While she tries to quickly get a grip on her life, Cassian’s determined to make her see that she’s not facing this alone.

FIC LENGTH: Multi-chapter (Total Chapter Estimate: 14)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

TAGGING: @bohemiandreams27 @queenofillea1 @trash-for-nessian @nestaarcheronwillkillme @my-fan-side @strangeenemy @maastrash @cageddovepoetry @bybooksanddreams @lilbat90 @ritamordio19 @mastercommandercaptain @feysand-dot-acotar @archeron-queen @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @empress-ofbloodshed @there-is-warmth-in-winter @mybbyfeyre @saltydreamcollector @justlikethecheshirecat @mis-lil-red @supebowlere @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @sezkins79 @everything-that-i-love @hashtolanashoba @lord-douglas-the-third @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @hikari274 @acotar-and-tog-for-life @ellenoftroy @ink-nibs @highlordofthenightcourttrash @sesquipedalian-aficionado @tintinnabulary

*This chapter is also posted on AO3 and FF.

A/N: My deepest apologies - it took 3 weeks to post a new chapter instead of the usual 2! Sighhh. Unfortunately, that's what happens when you lose a weekend of writing time when you go out of town! So thank goodness you weren't left on a cliffhanger?

This chapter is either the longest or the second longest one, so I hope that makes up for the wait! Also, just want to say this fic is keeping its T rating :)

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CHAPTER 13: June/July

June

For the remaining weeks of May, Cassian managed to return to Velaris every night with the help of Rhys and Feyre. It was in June, however, that Cassian was unable to keep to that routine, with Rhys’ and Feyre’s lack of availability some nights, and Cassian’s schedule to meet and train with all the Illyrian camps growing more rigorous.

It was early one morning at the beginning of June when Nesta was bidding him goodbye that she told him it wasn’t necessary for him to come back each night, saying that the training with the camps had clearly been taking its toll on him and he’d needed to get sufficient rest each night instead of being awoken by Dahlia’s cries throughout. She also expressed that while she enjoyed sleeping beside him, her and Dahlia didn’t even get to really see him or spend time with him.

Reluctantly, Cassian listened to her but not being able to sleep beside Nesta plus constantly fearing he would miss significant milestones in Dahlia’s life didn’t exactly improve his sleeping habits.

But he never let a week pass without him visiting them for one full day. And on those days, he’d relish in being with Nesta as they cuddled with Dahlia, bathed her, fed her, burped her, read to her, and played with her. He of course would also flap his own wings around to amuse her.

And as he did so, Nesta would give him a look that told him there was no way he could take her flying with him.

(At least not yet.)

It was the anticipation of those special days each week that got him through his time in the mountains. On those days, he’d feel like he needed to pinch himself to ensure it wasn’t just a dream.

But it was all real. He finally had a family to come home to and a place where he belonged.

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Nesta missed the feeling of Cassian’s hands wrapped around her each night. She’d grown so used to it when he slept beside her each night of May.

But she had noticed the weariness in his eyes. Toward the end of the month, he had started arriving at Rhys and Feyre’s estate later and later, mostly after she had put Dahlia in her crib and she herself had gone to bed. It would be an hour or so later that she would sense the mattress sink in beside her and feel the press of his lips against her temple and an arm snake around her waist.

And then before dawn, he’d be awake, ready for Rhys to winnow him away. But it was a rule between them, that no matter how “peaceful” she may have looked, he would always wake her up to say goodbye.

Before he left Velaris to return to Illyria for the first time after the birth, Cassian was always the first to get up during the night whenever Dahlia cried. But during his visits after his return to Illyria, he would often be so exhausted that sometimes he didn’t even stir at the sound of her cries.

Nesta certainly wasn’t upset about it. She knew how badly he wanted to be there for both of them. One night, when he discovered Nesta was awake to soothe Dahlia, he apologized profusely for not hearing Dahlia awake and insisted he take over in cuddling with her so Nesta could go back to sleep, but Nesta wouldn’t have it.

She felt worried about him. His talk of what was going on at the camps was very limited, but she knew he was likely overworking himself in an effort to make Illyria a safe place for them to live as a family.

So, as gently as she could, she told him it wasn’t necessary for him to visit each night, especially since they didn’t really get to spend time with each other. Plus, she didn’t mind waking in the middle of the night to calm Dahlia since her sisters helped so much with Dahlia during the day, giving Nesta plenty of time to nap and remain fairly well-rested.

It took Cassian a little while before he very reluctantly agreed to follow her wishes. But a day never went by without them sending at least one message to each other. And every week, he would come to the estate and spend a full day with them… Those days were the ones she treasured the most.

But right now, she really wished Cassian was with them for the night.

Because Dahlia, for some reason, refused to stop crying.

Her wails were especially loud, and holding and rocking her did nothing to soothe her at all. Nesta tried sitting in the rocking chair with her, reading to her, bouncing her up and down, feeding her, and walking around the room as she held her, but absolutely nothing was working.

This had never happened before. Sure, there were some nights where Dahlia cried quite a bit, but eventually she would calm down. This was the longest she’d ever cried.

And Nesta couldn’t help but feel that Cassian would know what to do. He could probably flap his wings and that would be enough for Dahlia. She always seemed to become quiet sooner whenever it was Cassian who tended to her.

But she couldn’t bother him with this. He was probably deep in sleep anyway.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her bedroom door before it swung open to reveal the sleepy faces of Elain and Feyre.

“Is everything all right?” Elain asked before yawning.

“I can’t get her to stop,” Nesta expressed helplessly as she rocked Dahlia in her arms.

“Here, let me try holding her,” Feyre said with outstretched hands.

Nesta stepped away from Feyre, as if to hold the baby away from her. It was instinctual for her to not want to lose control of a situation.

But she quickly realized what she’d done and moved back near her sister, carefully handing Dahlia to her.

Feyre cradled Dahlia in her arms and attempted to gently hush her as she glided around the room. Her and Elain watched them, and upon noticing no change in Dahlia’s cries, Elain turned to face Nesta.

“Maybe we should get Cassian?” she suggested. “She always seems to cry less when he’s around.”

It was true. When Cassian was around, not only did Nesta feel happier, but even Dahlia seemed to be more content as well.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Nesta protested. “He doesn’t need to be bothered by this.”

“But Nesta, I think he would want to be bothered by this,” Elain replied.

But he already had so much on his plate… What more could be done anyway that hadn’t already been tried?

“I don’t think - ”

“I’ll get him,” Feyre cut in as she stopped in front of Elain and handed Dahlia to her.

Before Nesta could even object, Feyre vanished, having winnowed away.

Nesta sighed. What could possibly be causing Dahlia to cry this much?

Within a matter of minutes, Feyre appeared with Cassian in tow. His eyes found Nesta’s immediately, as they always did whenever he was winnowed to the estate whenever she wasn’t sleeping. He strode toward her and grasped her hand to squeeze it in greeting. He knew she wasn’t fond of public displays of affection. To her, their relationship was something special between only them. While her sisters, Rhys, Azriel, and Amren were well-aware of their relationship, she relished in the privacy of their love.

So his kisses for her were saved for when they were alone or in front of only Dahlia.

“What’s wrong, my baby girl?” Cassian asked as he turned toward Elain and took Dahlia from her arms. First, he lifted her up with his hands beneath her underarms. Bouncing her a bit, Cassian flapped his wings as he did so. But the wing flapping did not have their usual effect. Dahlia’s cries did not stop.

Cassian stared at her in concern before bringing her to his chest, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He looked over at Nesta.

“How long has she been crying?”

“For over an hour,” Nesta answered, and Cassian’s eyes widened.

He swayed his body back and forth as he started rubbing Dahlia’s back. But as he did so, his hand suddenly paused its motion and he looked curiously down at Dahlia. He moved over to the crib to lay her down and started pulling off her clothing.

“What are you doing?” Nesta calmly inquired out of curiosity.

Once Dahlia’s clothing was removed, he picked her up again and laid her head against his shoulder. As he looked down at her back, Nesta looked as well and gasped along with her sisters.

On her back were two long black strips of raised skin.

“I think she’s growing wings,” Cassian explained.

Nesta felt frozen in shock. “But I thought you said she wouldn’t have wings?”

“All Illyrians I know have had wings since the day they were born,” he said. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Nesta’s mind was racing. She didn’t plan for this. How was she supposed to handle this?

“So the wings are hurting her? That’s why she’s crying?”

Cassian nodded. “I think so. We need to send for Madja. She’ll have the proper oil to rub along her back to soothe her.”

“I’m on it,” Feyre piped in before vanishing.

“Poor thing,” Elain remarked.

Nesta just stared at Dahlia, feeling awful for her, knowing her baby was in pain. She wished she could take it away from her. She stepped closer to Cassian and grabbed Dahlia’s hand. “I’m sorry, my angel,” she whispered in the midst of the wailing.

It was at least ten minutes before Feyre and a very sleepy Madja appeared. The healer took Dahlia from Cassian’s arms and inspected the marks before holding her against her body and pulling out a vial from her pouch.

She started rubbing the oil from the vial on Dahlia’s back. “She is growing wings,” she confirmed, speaking loudly over Dahlia’s wailing.

“But the marks of the wings should have appeared right when she was born. Not when she’s one month old,” Cassian stated.

“I suspect they were delayed because of your fall,” Madja said with a pointed look to Nesta. “Her body must’ve been injured, and now her wings will be slower to develop.”

Worry flooded through Nesta. So there had been negative effects of her fall after all…who knew what other ways Dahlia could be affected?

Madja must’ve noticed the alarmed look on her face. “When I checked her last week, everything was fine. She is still perfectly healthy. No need to be concerned.”

Gradually, Dahlia’s cries softened. Once Madja had stopped rubbing oil onto her back, Nesta gathered her in her arms, and Cassian wrapped his arms around Nesta.

“Rub this on her back every twelve hours and she’ll be fine,” Madja instructed as she put her vial down on the nearby nightstand. “She’s just in pain from her wings growing.”

“Thank you,” Nesta whispered, trying not to hug Dahlia to tightly to her body for fear of hurting her back even more. Luckily, it seemed like she was falling asleep.

“I’ll come back in a few days to check on her,” Madja added before looking over at Feyre.

“I’ll take you back,” she said before grabbing Madja’s hand and winnowing out of the room.

Elain came up to Nesta and placed a soft kiss on Dahlia’s head, then looked up at Cassian. “Thank goodness you came,” she said before giving Nesta a pointed glance. “Goodnight,” she said before walking out of the room.

With Dahlia now sleeping soundly in her arms, Cassian removed his arms from Nesta’s body so he could easily lean down and plant a kiss on Dahlia’s head.

Nesta walked over to the crib, then lifted Dahlia up and gave her a kiss before gently laying her down to continue sleeping. “Goodnight, my angel,” she said quietly.

As soon as she turned away from the crib, Cassian captured her lips in a brief kiss. Whenever he came to visit, he always took the first opportunity when no one was around to kiss her...and it never failed to leave her breathless.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead down against hers.

“Hello,” she breathed. “Do you need to go back to Illyria tonight?” She wondered how long she would have with him.

“No, I’m cancelling everything scheduled for tomorrow to stay here with you and Dahlia,” he replied as he pulled away and grabbed her hand to lead her over to her bed.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she remarked as she followed him.

“Yes, I did. I’m in severe need of time with my favorite girls,” he said as she laid down on the bed. Cassian followed suit, laying with his chest up against her back and his arm around her waist.

“We just saw you three days ago,” Nesta pointed out.

“It’s never enough,” Cassian stated.

Nesta grabbed his hand that was wrapped around her and brought it up to her chest, hugging it and placing a kiss upon it. “I agree,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Feyre said you didn’t want to admit you needed me here. That it was Elain’s idea I should come.”

Nesta fought back the urge to sigh. Why did her sisters have to get involved with this?

“I figured you were sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“But being here for you and Dahlia is more important than that,” he noted seriously.

“You’ve already done so much for me,” she said. “I don’t expect you to do anything more for me.”

“But...I always want to be there for you. I would do everything for you if I could.”

“I know…but you have important duties to attend to. I don’t want to be a distraction.”

“Sweetheart, you are a welcome distraction,” he emphasized, and the whisper tickled her ear. “And if you ever need me for the slightest thing, I want you to tell me.”

Nesta released his hand and turned her body to face him. “But you need to focus on -”

“I need to focus on taking care of you and Dahlia,” he interrupted fervently.

She gazed into his hazel eyes as she placed a hand on his cheek. “You love me too much.”

“And you deserve every bit of it.”

She stroked his cheek with her thumb. The intense look he was giving her was always too much for her, making her come undone. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she mumbled with a tinge of amusement.

“I know what you should do,” Cassian said. “You should contact me whenever you need help.”

Nesta sighed again. “Well, thank the gods you did come tonight, or else I may have never known what was bothering Dahlia,” she remarked, and then her voice took on a very serious tone as she thought about what it would mean now that they knew Dahlia was growing wings. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?”

“That...she’s Illyrian and not...of your Illyrian blood,” she explained awkwardly as she brought her hand down to his chest. “I...used to sleep with Illyrians whenever you made me mad, just to spite you,” she admitted quietly.

He pushed the stray strands of hair out of her face and behind her ears. “Well, you successfully made me jealous back then when I found out about it. But that’s all in the past now. As for Dahlia’s wings, while I’ll always wish she were truly mine, I’m excited that I’ll get to teach her how to fly.”

Nesta smiled at the visual of him teaching their little girl how to fly one day. “I’m glad she’ll at least...kinda look like you by having Illyrian wings.”

Cassian stared off dreamily to her bedroom window as he caressed her side. “It will be nice to share that with her and teach her to fly. I’ve...been afraid because I’m away so much that she won’t really need me when she has you and your sisters.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes and placed her hand on his cheek again to force him to look directly at her. “What? That is ridiculous. Of course we need you. We both need you! You’ll teach her how to defend herself, how to be a leader, to be loyal and courageous, how to love others a completely ridiculous amount!”

“Well, I just wish you’d let me know whenever you need help with her, so I can truly feel like I’m a part of her life.”

“I will!” Nesta said in a panic, not realizing that Cassian had been feeling this way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel that way at all.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I just...don’t want to be like my father.”

Nesta shook her head as she began stroking his cheek. “You are nothing like your father. You know this.”

Cassian sighed. “It just hurts to be away from both of you.”

“Which is proof that you aren’t like your father,” she stated. “You haven’t discarded us. You make it a priority to see us.”

Cassian shifted his gaze back to the window, seemingly deep in thought. Nesta used her forefinger to start tracing along his jawline, causing him to close his eyes. She figured he was just relishing in her touch, but she took it as her opportunity to lighten the mood.

“Are you going to sleep without giving me my goodnight kiss?” she whispered, unamused.

At this comment, Cassian’s eyes instantly opened to look at her. They held a glint of amusement - a sign she had accomplished her goal.

“My apologies, my love. Please forgive me,” he said quietly before bringing his head down to plant a slow kiss on her lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you the minute I needed you,” she said when they pulled away from each other. “Because I knew I needed you tonight. I always feel like I need you.”

“Likewise,” he said quietly as he ran his fingers through her hair and slid the ribbon out of it that had been holding it all together. “I just wish there was a better solution for this.”

Nesta probably wondered about this everyday, but Cassian needed to be in Illyria...and Dahlia couldn’t be in Illyria. Not yet at least. “We’ll make it work,” she replied. “In time, it will be better. But for now...just hold me.”

“Gladly,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him before they drifted off to sleep.

________________________________________________________________

July

From her place among the grass in the garden of Rhys and Feyre’s estate, Nesta stared at Dahlia, who sat just out of arm’s reach of her. Behind Dahlia was a row of bright red dahlias, and there was one single dahlia in her hand.

“You’re sitting right in front of the flowers I planted for you! They haven’t bloomed yet, but they’ll be a fiery red...bold like you.” Elain had told her, back in March on the day Nesta found out Cassian was her mate.

Nesta had no idea at the time that the flowers were dahlias. Even though Elain claimed she never saw the vision of the baby until that day in April, Nesta was convinced she must have seen something else that led her to plant the dahlias.

Nesta smiled at the craziness of it all. The fact that Elain felt the flower was bold like her, that Dahlia was the name of Cassian’s mother, and now her daughter shared the name. She chuckled at the sight of Dahlia currently tugging at the petals of the flower in her hands, attempting to pull them off.

Nesta looked to the side and saw Feyre behind an easel, swiping her paintbrush across the canvas and glancing every few seconds up at Dahlia as she painted. Her sister may have been an excellent painter, but Nesta wasn’t sure she’d be able to adequately capture the pure curiosity on Dahlia’s face.

She wished Cassian was here to see it.

At that moment, a piece of parchment appeared in the grass beside Nesta. Eagerly, she picked it up and read it.

My love, tell me your day isn’t as miserable as mine. (But then again, if I am not there with you, is it even possible for your day to be anything but miserable?)

Nesta rolled her eyes at Cassian’s cocky message but smiled as she wrote back her reply.

You’re ridiculous.

It only took a minute for his response to appear.

Ridiculously in love with you? You bet.

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes again at his words. But, even though he tells her he loves her nearly everyday, part of her still felt her heart race upon reading his message. It still bewildered her that he could love her so greatly.

Why is your day so miserable?

You and Dahlia aren’t here and the Illyrians are frustrating the hell out of me. I needed to write you to help me calm down and not think about it. So, if you’re not busy feeling like you can’t live without me, then what are you up to?

Watching Dahlia play with a flower outside as Feyre paints her portrait.

Feyre is painting her?

Yes, as she plays with a red dahlia.

Is Feyre going to paint you as well?

No.

Well she should paint a picture of you and Dahlia together so I can hang it here in the cabin. Maybe it could help me not miss you both so much…

Nesta looked glumly at the message. It certainly was difficult being apart most of the time. She was about to write back when Elain strolled across the garden toward her and sat beside her.

“Are you talking to Cassian?” she asked.

Nesta nodded in response.

“You two have never had time together - just the two of you - have you?” Elain inquired curiously.

Ever since she admitted she’d loved him, all their time together was spent with Dahlia. But she wondered what exactly Elain was getting at.

Nesta shook her head.

“You two deserve time alone together,” she remarked. “I’d be happy to watch Dahlia if you two ever want to spend time alone together.”

“Me too,” Feyre piped in without lifting her eyes from her work.

Every waking hour, Nesta was with Dahlia. She had a hard time envisioning even leaving her for a few hours. Would she be able to survive such separation?

Plus, leaving her in her sisters’ care...while things between them were certainly better, she still had her worries that they would take control of her and her daughter’s life.

She knew it would take a while for that fear to go away... if it ever completely would.

But the thought of spending some time alone with Cassian did sound pleasant. They never truly had gone out together.

“Thank you,” Nesta stated to her sisters. “I’ll let him know.”

Well, I think she should do a painting of our family - all three of us - instead. And you’d have the pleasure of holding us for hours as Feyre paints us.

A brilliant idea, my love.

Another idea was just brought up by Feyre and Elain - they have offered to watch Dahlia if you and I want to spend time alone together.

Another brilliant idea.

I’m only worried about leaving Dahlia.

That’s understandable, but she’ll be safe with your sisters.

But I’ve never been apart from her.

Which is why you are due for a short break. We can miss her together.

I do want to spend time with you...since we’re usually playing with Dahlia when you do visit, we hardly get to talk.

Among other things…

She blushed at what she knew was a playful innuendo.

Indeed.

Then how about we spend Saturday together? I’ll come to Illyria so I can see Dahlia and then we can go do something together.

Nesta pressed the tip of her pen to her chin as she thought about where she would like to go.

Could we go to your mother’s memorial?

Well, I had more romantic ideas in mind, but of course we can, sweetheart.

Nesta smiled to herself.

We could visit the memorial first, then do whatever you had in mind.

Hearing this idea has completely turned around my miserable day, my love.

________________________________________________________________

When Nesta woke up on her own Saturday morning, she was shocked.

Since Dahlia was born, she never woke up on her own. Dahlia would always wake her up, crying to either be fed or wanting to be held. She woke her up a few times throughout the night, but this morning...there was nothing.

Alarmed, she sat up and got out of the bed and headed to the crib, where she found no sign of Dahlia, but a note lying in the bed prevented her from being sent into a panic.

We’re downstairs. -C&D

The message was in Cassian’s handwriting, which surprised her since it meant he was already here. She hadn’t expected him to arrive until later, but she immediately left her room and made her way down the staircase.

It was in the living room area where she found Dahlia, lying soundly in Elain’s arms as they sat on the couch. However, Cassian wasn’t around.

When Elain saw her, she quickly stood up and handed Dahlia over to her. “I think she’s hungry,” Elain said with a smile. “Cassian is talking with Azriel and Rhys in the study.”

Nesta nodded as she wrapped her arms tightly around Dahlia and let her lay her head on her shoulder. “I didn’t even hear Cassian come in,” she remarked softly.

“I think he wanted to let you sleep for a bit,” Elain replied. “He said Dahlia was awake when he walked in, so he brought her down to sit with her for a little while.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind watching her today?” Nesta asked.

Elain shook her head. “I don’t mind at all. I’m excited to! I love her,” she stated as rubbed Dahlia’s back in between the spots where wings had started to grow. Wings hadn’t fully formed yet, but the dark raised skin had protruded even more in the last month.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Elain said. “Here, come sit down. I’ll get you some pillows.”

Since the birth, Elain had been a huge help to her and always doted on her. She had started to learn what Nesta needed before she even asked for it, such as now, with pillows set behind her as she sat on the couch and prepared for breastfeeding.

Once she fed Dahlia, Cassian still hadn’t appeared so Nesta left Dahlia in Elain’s care as she went back upstairs to change her clothes, style her hair, and freshen up.

When she was finished, she went back down the stairs. The closer she got to the living room, she could hear multiple voices speaking and recognized Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

When she walked in the room, she found Cassian sitting on the couch with Dahlia cradled in his arms.

Every time she saw Cassian with Dahlia, it made her swoon with joy.

Cassian’s eyes found hers instantly and he smiled more brightly. She wasn’t sure if it was simply because she hadn’t seen him in a week, but his gaze felt more intense than ever. Nesta grinned back at him as she went over to him and sat beside him.

It was then that she realized that Azriel, Rhys, Feyre, and Elain were all in the room, chatting away.

Cassian was big enough that he easily was able to cradle Dahlia in one arm. His free hand found Nesta’s and squeezed it tightly in greeting. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning,” she whispered back as she returned the squeeze. “You didn’t wake me up when you came in,” she gently reprimanded him.

“Good. That was the intention.”

Nesta stared at him, waiting for his explanation.

“I had just gone into your room to check on you two since I knew Rhys wanted to talk this morning,” he continued. “I wanted to let you both sleep...but then I saw Dahlia was awake and there was a bad smell coming from her. So I cleaned her up and just sat with her for a little bit. I wanted you to have time to rest.”

Nesta had wished he’d awoken her when he arrived, but ultimately, he was just looking out for her as always. She gave him a soft smile.

“What did Rhys have to say?” she inquired.

“It was just an update on the Night Court, Mor’s mission, Illyria, the Court of Nightmares...nothing crazy,” Cassian answered.

Mor…

With Mor being gone for a while, Nesta had nearly forgotten about her. She hadn’t been mentioned by anyone lately, yet she was someone who was close to Cassian and disliked her.

Did Cassian even let her know that they were together? Months ago, he had told Mor he of course wasn’t the father of her child, claiming Mor was sensitive to anything possibly coming in the way of their friendship. Would Mor always be trying to convince him to leave her? Or if he hadn’t told her yet, what would that mean?

Cassian’s thumb started rubbing hers, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you ready to go now?” he eagerly wondered. “Although...it’s going to be hard to let go of her,” he added as he looked over at Dahlia.

“I know,” Nesta said sadly, looking over at Dahlia as well.

“Well, I think it’s time for you two to get going,” Feyre piped in as she approached them and reached for Dahlia.

After a short sigh, Cassian bent down to kiss Dahlia’s head and Nesta leaned over to kiss her too. Then Cassian finally relinquished her and handed her over to Feyre.

Feyre cradled Dahlia in her arms.

“You’re sure you’re fine with taking care of her today?” Nesta asked.

“Of course,” Feyre said and started to walk away from them.

Nesta must’ve had a concerned expression on her face as she thought about leaving Dahlia in her sisters’ care from the way Cassian was now looking at her. “You don’t need to worry,” he advised quietly while rubbing the back of her hand.

She took comfort in his reassuring gesture. She really shouldn’t be worrying...she wouldn’t be right at Dahlia’s side forever...

“Oh, do you need me to winnow you to wherever you’re going?” Feyre asked as she turned her head back at them from across the room.

Cassian kept his eyes on Nesta. “Should we winnow or fly?” he whispered.

She would much rather be carried and flown by him. The last time he had done so, she was going into labor and couldn’t enjoy it. Before then, they weren’t even together when she had flown with him. But she had to toy with him as always. “That depends...are you going to pretend to fall through the sky again?”

“As long as you keep your arms around me, sweetheart, we’ll be fine,” he answered quietly with a cheeky grin. “No, we’re going to fly, Feyre,” he called out to his High Lady.

Feyre nodded, then proceeded to bobble Dahlia up and down in her arms.

“Let’s go before we change our minds about leaving Dahlia,” Cassian said as he stood up and tugged Nesta’s arm to follow him. “Goodbye, everyone,” he called out without even looking at them. They shouted it back to them as Nesta allowed Cassian to lead her out of the estate.

As soon as they walked outside and Nesta shut the door behind her, Cassian’s lips crashed against hers. The force of his kiss was so strong that Nesta’s back was pushed against the door. Cassian brought his hands to the sides of her face as he kissed her deeper.

When he pulled away from her, Nesta had a hard time finding her balance again. Probably noticing her struggle, Cassian reached out to pick her up, with one arm behind her back and one behind her knees.

“I think that was one of the longest times I’ve ever had to wait to be alone with you to kiss you,” he remarked. “It was nearly unbearable.”

Despite relishing in his kiss and despite being the one who preferred the privacy of their relationship, her mind couldn’t help but drift back to Mor, wondering if she was even aware of this. Did Cassian keep it private from her? He’d never mentioned if he’d ever told her.

“Well, maybe if you woke me up when you arrived this morning, you could’ve kissed me immediately,” she pointed out with an irritable bite to her tone.

Cassian frowned. “Sweetheart, listen, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t know it would be such a big deal to you,” he stated apologetically. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She hated herself for getting so worked up about this. “Have you told Mor about us?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” he answered without any hesitation. “I wrote to her and told her.”

“And how did she react?” Nesta asked, staring him in the eyes to see if they would tell her anything.

“Well, I first sent her a message about it when you weren’t speaking to me, telling her I was in love with you and that there was absolutely nothing she could say or do to change that. Then my other message said we were together, that I was the proud father of a beautiful daughter, that I had finally found the home I was always looking for with my new family, and that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been,” he explained.

Nesta felt stupid, so incredibly stupid for letting her doubts nearly get to her. She finally brought her hands around his neck, tears surfacing in her eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, my love,” he replied with a smile. “I even told Rhys and Az the same thing this morning. So, while I don’t know if Mor’s happy about it, I do know she’s accepted it. You have nothing to worry about. I love you.”

“I know.”

“Well, I’m going to keep telling you until I know you believe it without a doubt,” he stated, squeezing her more tightly. “And even after that too so you’ll keep on believing it.”

“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry for getting mad at you.”

“Well you could make it up to me…” he trailed off as he shifted his gaze to her lips.

Nesta gladly answered his request with a deep kiss.

When she pulled away, Cassian beamed and took them to the skies. ________________________________________________________________

When they arrived on the mountain where Cassian was born hours later, the sky was cloudy.

It seemed to accurately reflect the mood in the air, however, since they remained silent after their landing.

Once Cassian had gently put Nesta down, she strolled away from him to stand alone in front of the giant rock that served as a memorial to his mother and to her father.

Cassian hung back but still faced the stone, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he thought about his mother.

So much had occurred since the last time he and Nesta had visited this spot. The snap of the mating bond. Nesta kissing him for the first time. Going through the Blood Rite again. Almost losing Nesta and the baby. Proving to Nesta he loved her. The birth of the baby. Having a family…

Mother, when I was taken away from you, I thought I’d be alone my entire life. When Rhys’ mother took me in, I at least had someone to help take care of me. While I did consider them family, I still felt like I was missing something. I can’t describe it. But I assumed I would never find it because I was taken from you. We didn’t have enough time together.

When I got to know Nesta, I could see how resilient and fearless she was, and it couldn’t help but remind me of you. Her bold actions against the king of Hybern reminded me of the way you’d spat upon the boots of the Illyrian leaders. Then Nesta nearly died with me in the war and she was the only other person I had ever felt like I didn’t have enough time with.

But we were given another chance...and I almost wasted it. But you brought me back to her, mother. When she seemed so lost and alone in her pregnancy, all I saw was you in her and how you must’ve felt.

I love her, and I love her daughter just as much - your granddaughter who has been named after you.

I finally have the family that I had always been searching for, and I’ve never felt this happy.

I love you, mother. Thank you for leading me to her.

________________________________________________________________

Nesta took a deep breath as she faced the stone that had come to memorialize her father.

She could’ve asked Cassian to take her to her father’s actual memorial. The one that Feyre and Elain had established in Velaris. But that spot didn’t hold any significance for her.

This one did.

Since it was a spot made by the one who showed her it was safe to love fiercely and powerfully again.

Nesta closed her eyes.

Dahlia...thank you for your son. He may have been young when he was taken away from you, but I know you were the one who showed him how to love as he does. I hope you don’t mind that I named our daughter after you since she’s not of your bloodline, but Cassian considers her his daughter, and I feel like that would be enough for you.

Thank you.

She took another deep breath and crossed her arms across her chest.

Father…

Because of you, I never thought I’d be able to love again. Loving you had left me so hurt, so dejected, and so closed off from others. I felt I couldn’t trust anyone ever again. I felt like I was unworthy of love.

And when I saw you die, I completely fell apart. And do you know why? Because you had come to help us. After years of wishing you would do something, you finally did. In that brief moment, you gave me hope. I finally felt like I was truly seeing my father again for the first time in years.

But then you died, and I shattered. I wished you had never given me that hope. Because I was left with wondering why you decided to help then. If you loved me again. If you finally were yourself again. If we could have truly made amends.

If only we had more time.

Time with you became yet another thing this fae life robbed me of.

But I kept hating you. For all the pain you put me through. For how you must’ve treated Vassa to be a better father figure than her own father. For allowing me to have hope at the end of your life. For the fact that I was so hopeful upon seeing you after all the years you hurt me.

And for the fact that I turned out to be like you.

I shut Feyre out when you shut me out. Then after you died, I shut everyone out and lost myself...just like you did.

And then I was pregnant.

And all I could think was that I could not let myself be like you anymore. My child needed someone who would care for her always. No matter what. I did not want my child to experience what you put me through.

So in a way, I suppose I have you to thank for spurring me to pull out of my darkness…

Thank the gods Cassian was there to help.

It was because of you though that it took so long for me to accept his care and his love and to reciprocate it.

But now...now all finally feels right and the way it should be. I finally love freely again, the way I loved you when I was a little girl. And Cassian, who has seen me at my lowest point and suffered from my poor treatment of him then, is able to love me.

If he can still love me after seeing me lose myself, then...I can do it too.

Father, I will always wonder what could’ve been if you had survived the war. Since you showed up to save your daughters, I choose to hope we would have made amends.

I have been where you have been. I managed to survive in part because of you, and I feel I can finally forgive you now. I may never forget what you did, but I forgive you for it.

I love you, father.

She brushed a few stray tears off of her face. She was determined to no longer cry over him. The past was in the past. She needed to move on.

With a heavy breath, she turned around and found Cassian standing a few feet behind her, facing her. His expression seemed cautious. He tilted his head up to look at her, as if he was trying to gauge how she was feeling.

Nesta strode forward and enveloped her arms around him. As she buried her head into his chest, he tightly wound his arms around her. After placing a gentle kiss upon her temple, he rested his head on top of hers.

For the next few moments, they stood just like that, resting in the serenity of the silence and the comfort of each other’s arms.

Upon feeling drops of water fall onto their skin, Cassian looked up at the gloomy sky that was now covering them. “It looks like my plans for the day have been ruined,” he remarked.

Nesta pulled her head away from his chest. “What were you planning?”

“We were first going to head back to the cabin so I could make our dinner, then go to one of the other mountains for a romantic picnic and a romantic walk.”

The rain started falling faster now. “Don’t worry about it. Your cabin will be fine,” she said gently.

“It’s our cabin,” he corrected.

“Our cabin,” she agreed with a small smile.

Picking her up in his arms, he grinned at her. “Let’s go.”

________________________________________________________________

During the journey back to the cabin, the weather grew worse, with rolling thunder and lightning cracking across the sky as rain pelted down.

By the time Cassian landed on the platform outside their cabin, the two of them were completely drenched.

Still holding Nesta in his arms, Cassian fumbled for the door knob and turned it open. “I’m glad I don’t have to let go of you now,” he commented as the door creaked open and he stomped inside.

“Who gave you permission to act so brutish?” Nesta questioned him incredulously all while tightening her grip around his neck as he kicked the door shut behind him.

“Well I don’t hear you demanding me to put you down, sweetheart.”

Nesta couldn’t help but smile back at him as he stood in the entryway, holding her and staring at her as the water dripped off their skin and onto the floor.

There was that infamous look again. The one that left her breathless and mesmerized and pierced right through her, leaving her wondering how she could ever be on the receiving end of such a look. Yet this gaze seem to be more intense than ever before, as she could feel his overpowering love and his admiration. It was almost too much to take.

“Why do you look at me like that?” she wondered softly.

“Because I’m completely enamored and amazed by you. You thought you didn’t deserve me...but I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” he whispered.

She could feel the blush creep over her face, while her heart did somersaults. “I still don’t think I deserve you,” she stated honestly.

“Well, I think that is something we’ll have to forever agree to disagree on,” he remarked before leaning in to give her one more kiss. “Do you want to get changed while I make dinner?”

Nesta was quiet, deep in thought over how to make her next move.

Reaching her hands up the back of his head to tangle her fingers in his wet hair, she brought her face up to his to plant a passionate, lingering kiss upon his lips. Eagerly, he returned the kiss, which evolved into multiple kisses.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth when she pulled away and moved her mouth to be up against his ear. “I’d rather you undress me,” she stated huskily.

Cassian’s breath stilled, and his mouth dropped open to speak, but Nesta quickly continued. “Cassian, if we…,” she trailed off, but she sensed he knew what she was referring to. “Does that mean I’ll have accepted the bond?”

His grip on her tightened even more. “No. You have to offer me food in order for the bond to be established,” he explained gently.

Nesta swallowed before speaking again. “I’m not...I’m not ready to accept it, but it has nothing to do with you. I - ”

“Nesta, I don’t want you to feel pressured to accept it,” he insisted. “After all you’ve been forced to go through, I don’t care if you never accept it. I only want to be loved by you.”

She reached up to caress his cheek. “And I want to be loved by you...in all ways,” she expressed as she stretched out her hand to run it ever so slowly across the edge of his wing.

“Nesta,” he moaned as he closed his eyes. Once she pulled her hand away, he opened his eyes again to find her deviously smiling. “Are you well enough to…”

“Madja told me it was fine,” she interrupted before she pressed a hungry kiss on his jaw and returned to tracing his wing with her finger.

Cassian hissed but was quick to respond to her actions. While locking his lips with hers, he managed to carry her down the hall into the bedroom that had been hers when she lived there, leaving behind a trail of water in their path.

Her crown braid is what he chose to remove first. When he planted her feet on the ground, he stood before her and shower her with open-mouthed kisses, swiping his tongue across hers as he tangled his fingers in her wet hair to leisurely untwist the braid.

Once that was finished, Nesta moved in the way she was familiar with - aggressive, fast, and forceful - as she yanked his tunic off of him and moved her hands to the waistband of his pants. This was how it went with all the other males she had slept with. She always held the control and was always desperate for the escape. So focused on the task at hand, she had subconsciously stopped returning Cassian’s kisses.

Before she could pull down his pants, Cassian abruptly halted his kisses and placed his hands on her upper arms. “Wait, sweetheart…” he murmured with his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against hers. Nesta paused, lifting her eyes to look up at him and feeling confused as to why he was stopping her.

“Do you not want to…?” she began to hesitantly ask.

“No, no,” Cassian insisted as he opened his eyes and took heavy, deep breaths. “No, sweetheart, of course I want to. But...will you let me love you?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” she whispered.

He let out a slight chuckle before gazing at her tenderly. “I mean...will you let me take control?” he inquired as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “And let me love you the way you deserve?”

Maybe it was because of the way his breath tickled her or maybe it was the words he just uttered, but Nesta felt her body tremble. “Yes,” she breathed.

Cassian kissed her slowly and deeply for a long moment, and then in a swift motion, twirled her body around so he was facing her back. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck as he unhurriedly set himself to the task of undoing the buttons of her dress. With every button he unbound, he bent down to put a kiss to her back, forming a trail of kisses along her spine that gave her chills.

Once all the buttons were loosed, he peeled off her dress that had been sticking to her skin due to the rain and let it fall to the ground. Now only in her undergarments, Nesta slipped off her shoes as she waited to see how much longer Cassian would prolong this.

Turning her to face him again, his lips captured hers as he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist while she placed her palms against the sides of his face.

He laid her down on her back on the bed and appeared to briefly lose his tremendous patience as he tore off her undergarments so she now lay naked before him.

Standing at the end of the bed, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he kicked off his boots and took off his pants. Then he kneeled down on the bed in between her legs and hovered over her, with his palms flat against the mattress at her sides.

As he looked into her eyes - which she was sure reflected the burning passion she saw in his - she couldn’t help but shiver again from her anxiousness over what was about to happen...what was already happening. From his movements, from the way he kissed her and touched her, she knew this would be distinctly different from all the sex she’d had before.

He peppered her with kisses, starting at her navel, going up her chest and between her breasts until he reached her face. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

From then on, every touch from his rough, calloused hands struck her deeply and sent her heart thundering, matching the storm raging outside. Every whisper of sweet nothings was a delicate caress against her skin. Every kiss against her body burned her with its fervor, serving as an imprint of his adoration for her.

He made love to her slowly, wanting her to feel every ounce of his love so she could absolutely have no doubt about it. She couldn’t help but lose herself in him.

When they joined together, she could feel something within her desperately begging to be united with him completely. She was certain it was the surging power of the mating bond that resided inside her.

One day, she thought in response to the power’s pleas.

She would worry about that later. But for now, she just wanted to relish in this - this feeling that someone could love her passionately, completely, and irrevocably.

________________________________________________________________

Afterwards, Nesta laid in bed beneath the sheets, cuddled up next to Cassian. His hulking and muscular figure surrounded her, and his arm rested across her waist. His eyes were closed but she knew he was still awake based on the fact that one of his fingers on his other hand was busy twirling a ringlet of her hair.

She took the opportunity to stare at him in an attempt to memorize him - every scar and every scratch etched by battle, every swirl of his Illyrian tattoos, every indent of his chest, and even every mark she gave him that night.

Her eyes wandered back up to his face. He seemed so peaceful and so content, which reflected her own feelings.

That evening he had loved her like no other. Just as she predicted, it was unlike anything she had experienced before. He cherished her, doing absolutely everything he could to please her.

She still had trouble believing it - the fact that this bold and loyal male who had been living for centuries could tremendously love a mere human-turned-fae who had tried so hard to shut people out and not feel a thing.

But now she felt everything.

She couldn’t stop the tears of bliss from forming in her eyes, and she couldn’t resist laying her palm flat against Cassian’s bare chest where his heart was beating for the assurance that this was all real.

His eyes blinked open at her touch. At the sight of her tears, he looked alarmed. “Nesta, did I hurt you?” he asked.

She vigorously shook her head back and forth. “No. Not at all.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a slight laugh. “It’s just that...you love me.”

Cassian beamed. He moved his hand that had been at her waist up to her face to wipe away her tears. “You’ve said you already knew this.”

He then covered her hand on his chest with his own, rubbing it with his thumb.

“I thought I did, but I didn’t completely believe it until now.”

“I’m just that good in bed, huh?” he asked in jest.

Annoyed, Nesta reached for the pillow behind her and whacked Cassian with it. It wasn’t the fact that he was a good lover. It was more than that. “However, my love for you is now in question!”

Cassian couldn’t help but laugh, but when Nesta proceeded to wrap herself in the bedsheet and get up out of the bed, he groaned. “Nesta, my love, I’m sorry. It was just a joke. Come back here,” he requested.

Picking up her clothes and undergarments that had been abandoned on the floor earlier, she wandered over to the closet. Her dress was still wet from the rain, so it wouldn’t be ideal to put back on. But she recalled that when she’d left Illyria months ago after the attack, the clothes she had here had been left behind and she doubted Cassian threw them away.

“I’m hungry. You need to make us dinner,” she demanded as she opened the closet door.

“Well, I may be feeling too exhausted after tonight’s activity,” Cassian replied. She wasn’t looking at him but she knew he was smirking.

Peering into the closet, Nesta found the dresses she expected to find...but was shocked to discover that multiple tunics hung there too, as well as armor and even a few pairs of boots on the floor.

Stepping back out of the closet to look over at him lounging on the bed, she gave him a curious look. “Have you been using this room instead of your own?”

“Yes,” he answered. “It got to be too hard going up and down the stairs where that Illyrian hurt you,” he said through clenched teeth, reigning in his rage. But his tone quickly transitioned into a softer one. “Plus, here I can always be reminded of you. And now after tonight, it’ll give me even more memories of you,” he added slyly.

Nesta sighed at his comment but still, the way he desired to be reminded of her gave her butterflies. Stepping back into the closet, she slid on her undergarment and grabbed one of his tunics and put it over herself, dropping the bedsheet. The shirt was quite large and went down to her knees, but it smelled like him and brought her comfort.

Exiting the closet, she made to leave the bedroom and Cassian groaned out of irritation again.

“Come on, I told you I was hungry,” she instructed, pausing at the doorway to turn back to him.

Cassian reluctantly got up out of the bed, not even bothering to bring a bed sheet to cover himself. “Don’t you know what the sight of you in my shirt does to me?” he growled when he reached her.

Now it was her turn to look smug. “If only you didn’t tick me off a minute ago, then perhaps I would’ve indulged you.”

“My love,” he declared, gently gripping her chin to tilt her head up toward him. “I’m sorry. My joke was stupid. I am overjoyed that you finally know how much I love you.”

“Make it up to me by cooking me dinner,” she requested.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he replied, then gave her a quick peck. Releasing her chin, he turned to leave the room.

“Cassian,” she hissed, stopping him in his tracks. “Put on some pants!” she demanded.

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Why? Am I too distracting for you because you find me too hard to resist like this?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, deliberately keeping her eyes focused on his. “Am I not a proper lady who deserves a gentleman with proper manners?”

“And here I thought based on all those romance novels you read, you were more fond of brutish scoundrels,” he replied as he stood before her again and ran his finger down the side of her face to push back a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Cassian!” she said in annoyance.

With a chuckle, Cassian finally went over to the dresser where he opened a drawer to grab a pair of pants. Nesta strode out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.

Within a few minutes, Cassian joined her and started moving about the kitchen, collecting multiple ingredients, a bowl and a pan from various cupboards and chests and setting them out on the counter.

Nesta took a seat at the table and watched him. “What are you making?” she asked.

“Pancakes.”

“That’s your idea of a romantic dinner?” she wondered aloud with a hint of incredulity. As she leaned back in her seat, she thought back to when she was pregnant and Cassian made her pancakes whenever she craved them. But was he simply making them because it was something easy?

“Well, to me, it is. The first time I made you pancakes when you were pregnant was when I first felt things were starting to shift between us,” he explained as he mixed the ingredients in a bowl. “You seemed to finally think I was at least tolerable.”

Nesta tried to think back to that day. “Hmm. I suppose that’s true since I started to eat with you then.”

They were silent for a moment. From her spot at the table, Nesta stared outside the kitchen window into the darkness, while listening to the sizzle of Cassian pouring the batter onto a pan over the stove and the pelting of the rain against the roof of the cabin.

Then, more thunder rumbled.

“I’m guessing we won’t be able to fly back to Velaris tonight?” she asked.

“Probably not. If you want to write a note to Feyre to winnow you back, there’s parchment in Dahlia’s...well, what would have been Dahlia’s room,” he offered.

His comment saddened her. It was another reminder of what could’ve been...what should’ve been...if things didn’t all go to hell when she was last here.

She had assumed he would’ve turned the room back into his study, but if he was calling it Dahlia’s room...Curiosity sparked her to get up from the table and leave the kitchen to go to the room.

When she reached the room, she was startled to find the room was devoid of furniture and instead, there were various parchment, pens, books, and other miscellaneous items scattered about on the floor in a corner of the room. Walking further into the room and looking at the mess on the ground, she found there were maps of the Illyrians camps and notes about each camp scrawled on parchment. Beside all this sat a stuffed animal of a horse.

The entire room was a peculiar sight that Nesta knew she would have to ask Cassian about.

Finally locating a piece of magical parchment she could use to write to Feyre, she sat on the ground and grabbed a pen.

She missed Dahlia and felt bad for being away from her for so long, but...she probably was already sleeping anyway. Did she really need to rush home, or could she wait until morning, after the storm passed, to fly home with Cassian?

She then proceeded to write notes back and forth with Feyre to find out how Dahlia was doing. Once Feyre confirmed that all was well and Dahlia was asleep, Feyre was the one who first stated that if Nesta wanted to spend the night in Illryia, she wouldn’t mind.

Nesta decided to take her up on her offer, having a feeling that Cassian may have needed more than Dahlia at that moment.

Once that was settled, she went back to the kitchen where she found Cassian sitting at the table, pouring syrup on the stack of pancakes sitting before him. She could sense his mood seemed...off to her.

“Cassian, why isn’t your desk in your study?” she inquired.

He put down the cup of syrup. “Because it’s Dahlia’s room,” he replied. “I just like to work in there so I can remind myself of why I’m dealing with the ridiculous Illyrians. That one day I can make the dream of you and her living here with me come to pass and make this area a safer place for not just both my girls, but for all females and children.”

Nesta gave him a sad smile as she approached him from behind. He drooped his wings back as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

“That day we went to the fair and went on the sleigh ride,” he continued. “I told you about making that Dahlia’s room, and I also told you I would take care of the Illyrian issues in their treatment of females and children.”

The sleigh ride...

“Hence the stuffed horse?”

Cassian nodded. “It’s my present for Dahlia when she’s finally able to live in Illyria.”

Nesta looped her arms around his neck while standing behind him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she turned her head to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I know it’s hard, my darling. But your devotion to us and these causes is one of the reasons I love you.”

A slight smile came across his face. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you call me something other than ‘you fool’ before,” he commented. “‘My darling’ has a nice ring to it.”

She released him before walking around his chair to take a seat on his lap and wrap her arms around his neck again.

“My darling,” she whispered before placing a slow kiss on his lips.

Cassian groaned with pleasure as he wrapped his arms around her. “When is Feyre coming to winnow you back?”

“She’s not,” she replied. “Dahlia’s already been put to bed and Feyre offered to watch her for the night. I’d much rather spend the night here, and then you can fly me back in the morning if you are willing?”

His demeanor shifted. Suddenly he seemed much happier than he had a little while ago. “Of course, my love.”

“And then tomorrow, you can stay a little while in Velaris to play with Dahlia?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he insisted. “Are you ready to eat dinner?”

“Mmm, I think that can wait a little while longer. I have the appetite for something else,” she stated as she kissed him again, her tongue breaking past the seam of his lips. Cassian eagerly took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, causing her to moan.

“Cassian, my darling...father of my child…” she managed to say as soon as her lips pulled away.

“Mmm, I love that new nickname even more,” he said as he nudged his nose with hers.

“Will you let me love you now?” she requested. “It’s my turn to love you the way you deserve.”

There was a look of devilish amusement in his eyes.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

________________________________________________________________

A/N: Well, this chapter was a doozy to write! There were some aspects that I felt deserved a bit of a bookend, like Mor, their parents, etc. I felt it was also important for a Nessian sex scene to happen since Nesta previously used sex only as a means to escape. (Also, I realized that out of all my Nessian fics, I've never given them a sex scene. Only intense makeouts...sooo I had to give them one this time!)

Hope you enjoyed this one! Thanks for your support! Next chapter will be the last - an epilogue set in the future! I don't expect it to take 2 weeks to write and post, but sometimes Nesta and Cassian have minds of their own and cause me to write more than I intend to. ;)

---> EPILOGUE

#nesta #cassian #nessian #nesta archeron #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #a court of frost and starlight #acofas #fanfiction #wings and embers #far from the shallow

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archiveofidentityconstellations · 5 years

Text

cass won't share her cheese nibs and bruce doesn't love me and i think?? that i deserve better??? than this???? i'm moving to alaska where NO ONE CAN TELL ME WHAT TO DO

the sequel to that one trix yogurt fic

I feel like I should tell you that I am MASSIVELY fucked up right now

like i am such a garbage heap that oscar the grouch took a look at me and said

“fuckk off!! i have standards!”

anyways

it’s Brimothy, bitch

what is UP mothertrucksrs it is Me i am back here to write a report on the UNBELIEVABLE SHIT I JUST HANDLED.

okay so u know how Gotham city is on crack cocaine all the time. with like some LSD and heroin and never ever any weed except for like who is that pig guy?? nevrm he doesn’t have weeeed but like he is definitely a Pig. what the fuck is his name. what the fuck.

okay so anyways

is it Goyle

Doyle

Pigoyle

tin foil? lmao

OKAY FUCK anyways the City, who Also May Be My Lover, is in a constant life crisis (which i relate? a Lot) and do you want to know this s h i t

Crocodile

Killer Croc

who Steve Irwin would be v disappointed in

Is climbing

into people’s FUCKING TOILETS

???????????????

THIS ISN’T FLORIDA

THIS IS NEW JERSEY

WE WEAR SHOES IN THE WINTER

WHAT SORT OF FLIP-FLOP WEARING CUCKER DOES HE THINK HE IS

okay so obviously KC is a big guy. a Dude. a whack-o whaler of a Male. a Big Boh. the largest banananana in the pack. he is Big. so he cAn’t fit into most people’s toilets. he can, however, fit into Big People’s toilets (big as in wealthy, not As in Tom Hanks)

so KC (crispy,,,nuggest…i wonder if fried alligator is good—not that im thinking of eating him, though someone really should threaten him with cannibalism, like if you’re going to be a bitch about it then you deserve the same done to you, it’s just manners) is in cahoots and canoodles with Someone Who Shall Not Be Named (not bc i don’t know, I do, that’s how detectives work. it’s my JOB to know, and i was a prodigy) but bc there is a whole other report detailing this person and their movements and its case file #4461 if u don’t believe me, but i ain’t no snitch, but i will say that tonight’s events connect to file #4461 so Dad if you’re reading this you should already have it out bc it’s your JOB

speaking of jobs ding ding here is mine coming round the mountain as she comes bc the apple bottom jeans the boots with the fur will be coming round the mountain when she comes shE’ll be coming round the mountain she’ll be coming round the mountain she’ll b e coming round and getting low low low low low l ow low

It was a crisp October night. The sun was blinking its sleepy lids, setting the ballroom with an incandescent glow. Bruce Wayne strode across the floor, his daughter Cassandra accompanying him. They wore matching expressions that the privileged always wear: guarded, yet hungry. Hungry for what? Probably for the crab cakes just out of reach. Neither of them had an allergy, and Cassandra in particular had a propensity to shove anything edible in her mouth, so it really was a tragedy that those crab cakes were all the way across the room. There should really be a table right in the middle of the dance floor just for snacks. That way caterers wouldn’t have to do so much leg work, which is actually a good thing, because that ballroom floor is slippery af. This narrator should know, he has Died A Few Times getting there. Suddenly, the night’s festivities were interrupted by a social faux pas: a scream.

You don’t just scream at regular parties, it’s uncouth and hysterical. But you can scream if the social boundaries have already been crossed, and boy, were they crossed.

You see, Dear Reader, there was a man in the toilet.

I use the term “man” loosely, as his glaring yellow eyes do wonders when you might just crap your pantaloons. You start imagining things, like dinosaurs whcih i am personally a big fan of bc Jurassic Park has a kid named Tim in it and I am also Tim.

hI y is our toilet so big that Killer Croc could wiggle his way up? also how long can he hold his breath.

it seems to be impressively long

hey Bdad how long can he hold his breath? please let me know if you can, and if you won’t i will eat all your wafers becauzs i wa

Mrs. Trenton screamed and fled the impertinent bathroom guest, who wasted no time in ripping the commode to pieces. There was a roar and all the guests paused, unsure if it was merely pipe problems or if they were under attack.

Reader: They were, in fact, under attack.

The guests, deciding that Mrs. Trenton was a social entrepreneur, followed her lead and began to scream. Killer Croc had made it to ballroom, standing at an impressive height just outside the doors.

He was Not wearing a shirt.

okay have u ever noticed that Killer Crog hasn’t got any nipples????? where are they? he’s got pecs but no nipples??

where did they go where are his nip nops i kno people don’t like to think about this but i hAve wondered since i was like 13 like where did they go. has anyone ever asked him.

did they fall off

“Take the crab cakes!” shouted Matthew Fielder, a lil bitch.

“No, take me!” said Cassandra Wayne, who would literally rather die than give up those crab cakes.

Killer Croc paid them no heed. He desired one thing and one thing only, the sweet satisfaction for his carnal craving: Humain Flesh.

(alliteration hell yeah hell yeah take that Mrs. Johnson i do know shit and im creative as well u jusy don’t know how my brian works it’s like a golden goose egg trap ye ye ye)

i just Realized

i am…a high school drop out

i don’t know why im doing this

Dear Reader, as an Aside: Smoking can lead to many health issues, especially if one begins smoking at a young age. Harmful side effects include increased risk of stroke and brain damage; muscular degeneration, eye cataracts; cancer of lips, nose, tongue, and mouth, and nipple loss.

Jason you may want to have a talk with you and your mipples

The terror in the air was stifling. Cannibalism conduct was not something conveyed in etiquette classes. Rich people never expect to be eaten.

Reader, everyone hardly breathed. Something deeply primal had occurred.

From the doorway the golden eyes struck. Deadly. Lethal. Hungry.

This was more than vengeance. It was a sadistic occasion of play.

okay good thing Dames wasn’t there because he fucking HATES KC he gets all huffy and shrieky about him like “he’s a HYGIENE PROBLEM” and it’s like,,,,,.ur right but i don’t want to agree with you because where do we stand if i do that?? as brothers???

i think the fuck not

anyways i just realized i’ve been calling Waylon Jones KC the entire damn time (NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE) but to be fucking h, he wants to to be called that. i called him Allen once and he was so PISSED so i can only think of actually calling him by his name. he wouldn’t even be chill with me naming the sewer alligators even tho they were awesome names. i called one Dundee. that’s fucking genius. that’s just. i’m fucking amazing. stupenous. and unappreciated.

maybe his nipples fell off because he swims in shit every night?????

question: why do i swim in shit almost as often

what the dfck

what are my life choices

i feel like there should have been some fine print involved here

“Robin duties include scraping shit off your asschreks 3 times a week”

mahbe,,,,maybe not what i want

personal choice

though i haven’t really seen any alligators in the sewers for years now, which is

oh my god OH MY GOD HE ATE THEM HE ATE THEM OH MY GOD OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!

HE FUCKING HE FUCKING. HE. HE ATE HIMSELF HE FUCNING ATE HIMAELF AND HIS FAMILY HIS COUSINS HIS CPOUSINS HIS FAMILY OH MY GOD THIS IS LIKE MY 8TH GRADE GRADUATION ALL OVER AGAIN

im so disturbed……..i like, need to eat something. Fucking hell. this Not what i had in mind when i decided to be alive.

i feel like as if i woke up one day and i was the only one in the entire world who remembered Caillou. also could pull off my face and eat it like taffy. imw so. i.

mom i know i refused to go to Shabbat when i was ten so i don’t get to say this but:

this is Not kosher

oh heyy i want some pIckes

i was also thinking of takin a spin class?? like fuck it i like to bike. fuck it. and maybe iwdont want bruce and nigtwink fucking watxhing me with their beady eyes. like get those off my calves. my cleavage is up here, gentlemen. stop talking about proper form. some people can do things and suck at them. i’m never going to be like a professional ice curler. and i shouldn’t feel bad about that. who the fuck curls for fun. maybe Canada???????

note to self: look up the history of the sport of curling

i’m going to get good at it to piss off Jason

Back On Topic:

Killer Croc took a step forward. His mouth trembled, watering in anticipation. He took another step.

Mrs. Trenton drew in a breath.

The room was silent.

Far across the room, Bruce Wayne clenched his champagne glass. Cassandra Wayne stopped chewing the crab cakes. Reader, I won’t mince words: Waylon Jones crossed the threshold.

and the instant he put his foot down on the ballroom floor he fucking slipped like a drunkass toddler

like when Damian is really really tired bc he’s like 2 years old (only an evil 2 years old like chucky) and Jason tries to give him a high five

gremlin still doesn’t get that “down low” precedes “too slow”

and he like. faceplants

onto the fucking concrete

and then Bruce yells at Jason

and then Jason yells back

“I NEVER ASKED FOR SIBLINGS”

like it was something we all did, like wrote it down on our batmas lists for Brucie Claus

and im sitting there, a perennial Forgotten Middle Child

and Damian is like still. on the ground.

anyways KC is just slipping across the ballroom, slippering and sliding bc the floor was just waxed and it’s silent except for the wet slaps of his feet against the floor and the screech his tail makes every time he trips (sort of like this) and when he sometimes falls it makes that sound of when your thighs SLAP against the mats and it sounds like a wet walrus coming to cheer you on while a Giant simultaneously swallows a liquid-filled gummy worm down his throat like QAWAGGHHHHHHH only his falls reverberated against the ceiling panels and the cherubs looked down in like. disgust.

Cass began chewing the crab cakes again by the time Killer Croc fell for the twelfth time so idk it was an embarrassing situation

we all did that Thing people do when a social barrier is breached

we like…..avoided each other’s eyes and made light conversation

meanwhile Killer Croc’s body screeched in the background

anyways Matthew Fielder was like “so I hear you dance ballet” and Cass responded “uh huh. tap too” and the chewed up crab cake crumbs fell out of her mouth and onto the floor

i CAN’T

scrambled cock on a cracker, Cass why does Alfred let this happen????? what is this?????? like she can snort creme puffs like cocaine but GOD FORBID i put my elbows on the table and call damian “a poisonous little bitch” because he ate my croutons

the standards in this family are unbelievable

So everyone is just talking and Mrs. Trenton is sipping champagne now and Luis Alvarez is doing that thing where he starts trying to eat caviar one teeny tiny egg at a time and KC is just like WHUMPH for the thirtieth time

finally dad takes pity on him and crouches down and is like “hey how you doing slugger” which???? Offended me. Very Much.

that’s MY nickname

has Waylon No-Nipples Jones been adopted by Bruce Wayne??? has Waylon No-Nipples Jones retrieved HIS sorry ass from time?? i don’t fucking think so

the audacity of this man

but before Killer Croc can reply

Red Hood

BURSTS INTO THE ROOM

guns out, voice modulator kind of fuzzy like a broke refrigerator that makes an “eeeeeeeeeee” sound ever since i tripped over it and fell on it

which wASN’T MY FAULT

IM NOT “deformed baby zebra clumsy” FUCK YOU JASON

MAYBE HE SHOULDN’T KEEP HIS EXPENSIVE HELMET ON THE FLOOR THEN

you know what? I’m GLAD i tripped over it.

yeah. suck it.

im glad you sound like a 90s japanese transistor radio

off brand too

fuck you

I GOT A BRUISE NOT THAT ANYONE CARES

even Bruce was like “hey tim you need to watch where you’re going”

???

how about YOU watch where YOU’RE GOING

“where” as in TIME TRAVEL

REMEMBER THAT BRUCE

REMEMBER THAT?!???????

HUH BIG GUY?!???????!!???

no one is allowed to criticize me from now on

i am Above Reproach

anyways yeah Red Hood appears at the party and shoots KC and Bruce was like “why the FUCK would you SHOOT HIM” as if he has some misplaced paternal feeling for Waylon No-Nipples Jones because he called him slugger which is something he calls one of his other kids but whatever im not bitter im just insecure and sad all the time but don’t worry about it maybe i’ll die one day and you’ll all be sorry especially about Certain Things like not sharing cheese nibs huh Cassandra

so RH and Bruce Wayne kind of argue. like. literally sniping at each other bc SOMEBODY forgot that Red Hood is a criminal and not their misplaced son and RH is like “it’s!!!!! a tranquilizer!!!!! ya big hoe!!!!!” only he doesn’t really say it like that but everyone isn’t even listening at this point because this party has already been so goddamn weird and we’re all suffering from secondhand embarrassment

i am Assuming,,,,,that Killer Croc Jones “Jonsie No-Nipples” has been taken away to be put into jail and studied for his non-nipple properties but at this point i’ve been sitting here huffing that cold medicine or whatever Bruce gave me. which

oh yeah i was crushed earlier

it was by “slugger” but whatever

yeah his body broke mine

it was because Bruce and Jason were fighting again and not paying attention so

KC was tranquillized and like

fell on me

he drooled on me too

those ballroom floors really hurt

like my head feels like mush

Alfred’s oatmeal

on its second day

because i refused to eat it on the first day

that man has a spine of Steel and he Does Not Let You Waste Food

btw he fell on me because i pushed Luis Alvarez out of the way

he was really transfixed by those tiny fish eggs

it’s fun to put them on your tongue and let them like slide around

so i pushed him out of the way and was promptly crushed to death

B said something about a broken collarbone

i am more worried about a broken butt

fuck

my coccyx

PROFESSOR PYM wait no shit that’s a comic book character

anyways my butt is broken and im hungry and dad wouldn’t let me get out of the chair so i write up this report because I am A Real Life Detective and I do my JOB

once again im the best

hey red jood can you get me some cheese nibs cassandrA won’t share which is p mean especially since i was all for being eaten to give her those crab cakes red hoof red why isn’t he responding to me i want xheese nibs red hanz red red Red Hood please I require sustenance red fhau red gjji red hhood ted joood redb hood red red edds red red edd dedd red red red red red wd red what the fuck what a right bastard sometimes oh hi Badaman

EDIT: His name is “Pyg.” Fucking. Pyg. Points taken off for unoriginality.

decided to have a tumblr version too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#take this and put it on my grave #in remembrance of me

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